


There are Wolves in the World

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Series: Werewolf? There Wolf [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Cameron Klein - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, M/M, Original Werewolf Character - Freeform, POV Multiple, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Werewolf Steve Rogers, this is probably more like you were expecting from a werewolf AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: Sometimes, no matter how far you run, the past catches up with you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hailedloco (Stella959)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella959/gifts).



> I wrote the first part of this series in one day so I could make a Mel Brooks joke. I can't believe this is where we ended up, but it's pretty much all because of you guys. So thank you. It's been an absolute pleasure to write these boys for you. Thank you again to A for looking this over.
> 
> As intimated in my note on the last installment, this one has a different tone from the rest of the series, so please do read the tags. In keeping with the _different_ theme, we've roamed rather far afield for the title: it comes from the _Beantown Bailout_ episode of the TV show _Leverage_ :
> 
>  **Zoe:** _There are wolves in the world. That's what Dad says. 'Be careful, Zoe. There are wolves in the world'._  
>  **Nate:** _He was not wrong._
> 
> For Hailedloco, just because.

**_Four-and-a-half-ish years ago_ **

Steve looked around the room. Wanda was curled on the ground behind him, panting heavily. The air reeked of pain and fear, of blood and burgeoning rage as he stood between her and Cole. Human shape or wolf, no one would meet his eyes. Not even Wanda.

Something in him broke. He'd done everything he could to protect these werewolves who were supposed to be his pack, supposed to be his _family_ , and they wouldn’t even look at him. It hurt, it hurt like someone had clawed into his guts, but it made his choice a hell of a lot easier.

"I'm leaving."

His words smashed the silence, a stone through glass. Cole snarled, wolf harmonics from a human throat, eyes gleaming gold. "You're not going anywhere. This is my pack, mine, and you belong in it. You'll stay and learn your place if I have to beat it into you. The only way out is if you're dead."

Steve knew Cole couldn't show weakness, couldn't let Steve walk away, because in his broken, twisted view of the world that would mean Steve had _won_ , but that wasn't Steve's problem. He'd never asked for this, to be savaged and turned into a werewolf, to be violently thrust into this new body, with all this strength, this _power_.

He'd tried to use it to help, to keep the weak members of the pack safe, every instinct, new and old, screaming they were something to protect. He'd failed. He tried to take the punishments Cole handed out to them—when they weren't respectful enough, didn't show their belly or bare their throat with enough speed—because he was strong and healed faster than any of them, and he'd _failed_. No one wanted it. Not the weak and not the strong. No one wanted him upsetting the brutal status quo.

If he couldn't stop it, if he couldn't change it, he refused to be part of it. He dropped his chin and met Cole's eyes in blatant challenge. "Try and stop me."

The moment was a blur, Cole's vicious snarl and hard fists, but Steve was already moving, knew he had to be faster, stronger. He grabbed Cole, a hand around his neck, another around his thigh, and slammed him into the wall. _Into_ the wall, through the plaster, tiles crumbling from the ceiling. He got lucky and Cole's head smashed into the support beam, leaving him dazed, kicking feebly, and Steve dropped him into the wall cavity and backed off.

The room was still, every eye locked on Steve.

"Stop him," came out of the wall in a croaking rasp, but no one moved. No one obeyed.

Steve knew the moment couldn't last, but still he had to try. One last time he had to try. "You're better than this. Protect each other. Find another way."

"STOP HIM!" The words lashed every werewolf in the room; they quivered, flinched, but still they held.

Slowly, Steve backed out of the room, out of the house, abandoning everything. His few possessions didn't matter. All that mattered was escape.

At the bottom of the stone steps he stripped off and shifted, feeling the still strange but comforting shape of the wolf settle around him, and bolted into the woods. When he reached the river he jumped in, swam for miles too many to count, then leapt out and broke into a lope, legs eating up the ground.

He kept running, kept moving. Following mountains and rivers, trails and fence lines, working his way across the country, pausing when he thought he'd found somewhere that might be safe, moving on when he sensed wolves or werewolves, travelling farther and farther away from the pack's house on the edge of town.

He finally went to ground in an ancient forest, bears and mountain lions the only serious natural predators, no sign of werewolves anywhere. He made it his home. Years passed and if he sometimes ventured out to where there were people, if he foolishly played with those people's dogs, risking a bullet or two, he was, under the wolf, still a person.

He'd heal from a bullet; loneliness was harder to deal with.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Yesterday_ **

_Crazydog._ Bucky had heard a guy use it to describe his poodle once, as the curly bundle of insanity had torn through a park, eyes wide, tongue flapping, paws a blur. Steve wasn't a poodle. He was a magnificent golden wolf, who transformed into a magnificent gorgeous man, but when he was dashing through the forest, pinging off trees like a game of pinball, bouncing from rock to rock like the dirt was lava, galloping in circles like he'd been possessed by the souls of a million puppies, it was the only thing that fit.

Crazydog.

God, Bucky loved him.

A prickling on his skin sharpened his attention, drew his head up, suddenly alert, aware in a way he'd never been before Steve.

Good thing, too.

Steve had gone still. Head down, body low, bowed over his front paws, eyes locked on Bucky. Bucky's eyes went wide and Steve's tongue lolled out of his mouth in the wolf equivalent of Steve's shit-eating grin. He bounced forward once and Bucky bolted, Steve in hot pursuit.

Laughter bubbled up out of his chest. The spring sun was high overhead, filling the clearing with golden light that promised a glorious summer. Steve brushed against his legs, pushing him, herding him, making Bucky laugh harder and he tripped over his own feet, Steve's quick spin and shove the only thing that kept him from falling over in a heap.

He was happy, this was perfect. Steve slowed, giving him a chance to pull ahead, then surged up and nipped his ankles. Gently, but he felt it, and he reached back and swatted him between the ears. "I'm not a sheep!" But laughter was still waiting, twisting through his words, and Steve nipped him again, grinning up at him with ears and eyes, and Bucky spun away, put on a burst of speed, and turned to face him.

"I never should have let you watch those sheepdogs." Bucky had known it would come back to bite him on the, well, not ass, not literally, but close enough, when Dum Dum's friend had wanted to switch the bar's TV to sheepdog trials. They were apparently a big deal in the part of England Falsworth was from and Steve had been way too interested in them for Bucky's peace of mind.

Steve huffed at him and planted his feet, head low, and Bucky could read the dare as clearly as if Steve had spoken.

"What do I get if I make it to the other side?" How Steve managed to waggle his eyebrows when he didn't even _have_ eyebrows was a mystery, but he did and Bucky rolled his eyes. "I can get _that_ whenever I want. I make it past you to the other side and you do the dishes for a month." Steve tilted his head back and forth, then nodded. 

"Right." Bucky rubbed his hands together, metal plates glinting in the sun, and grinned, showing Steve his teeth. Steve laughed at him.

It was close. Bucky had everything Steve had taught him, was strong and fast and knew Steve, the way he thought and moved, and it was sometimes a hell of lot easier to organise two legs in a sudden change of direction than it was four.

But there was one thing he hadn't counted on: Steve being a dirty, rotten cheater.

He spun past, was almost to the other side, when strong arms wrapped around him and tackled him into the grass. "Gotcha."

"Cheating!"

"Hey, you never said I had to stay a wolf." Steve sounded way too pleased with himself as he nuzzled his nose into Bucky's hair, pressing a kiss behind his ear, kissing down the line of his neck, nipping gently.

"I thought it was implied." Bucky tried for _annoyed_ ; it came out breathless instead and he tilted his head to give Steve better access.

"You thought wrong," Steve said smugly, rolling suddenly so his back was on the grass, Bucky cradled against him. Bucky sighed contentedly and relaxed against Steve as Steve's hands slid down his body. "But I'll make it up to you."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Now_ **

"I'm going into town to get the mail." Bucky was half asleep, drowsy and warm, and Steve was tempted to climb back into bed and wrap himself around him. Resisting temptation, he sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair off Bucky's face.

It got him a near-incoherent mumble of, "W'time?" as Bucky shuffled closer and cuddled against him.

Steve smiled, whispered, "Seven," biting back a laugh at Bucky's groan, and leaned down to kiss his temple, breathing deeply because he could never get enough of Bucky's scent. It was intoxicating. It was home. "Do you need anything?"

"Mmlpmh."

"The large or the extra-large?" Bucky was awake enough to punch him half-heartedly in the thigh and mutter _smart ass_. Steve grinned and kissed him again. "Seriously, anything you need?"

After a pause in which Steve was sure he could hear gears grinding in Bucky's half-asleep brain, he muttered, "W'need milk."

"I can do that."

"Kay." Bucky tilted his head blindly and Steve kissed him, soft and deep, pulling away with a quiet sigh. "Love you."

"I love you, too." He let his fingers linger on Bucky's face as he listened to his heart slow into the even beats of sleep, then tucked him in more securely. "Back soon."

He could still hear Bucky's heartbeat as he made his way out of the house, pausing on the landing to take a deep breath of the forest air, almost overwhelmed with the scent of spring: pine and new growth and flowers and the slightly rank scent of the buck deer that was that too bold by half, wandering through the ancient trees that surrounded their home in the forest. It wasn't afraid of Steve. Steve didn't think it was afraid of anything. The one time he'd seen the buck when he was a wolf it had shaken its antlers at him, snorted, then wandered off, clearly unimpressed with Steve. Steve was unreasonably fond of it.

Underlying everything was the scent of Bucky, a warm and comforting thread that was a balm to his heart. Steve took another deep breath, put one hand on the edge of the railing, and leapt down the stairs to land lightly in the grass, keys jingling in the other hand.

It was a long drive into town, but generally a solitary one. There was nothing out this far but them, which was how he liked it. With the window rolled down, the breeze blowing over his face, the spring sun warm on his skin, he was content.

His contentment came to a crashing halt as he came up over the rise and around the curve, the breeze shifted, and he was blasted in the face with the smell of werewolf. It was no one he recognised and it was overlain with fear and pain and he hit the gas, following the scent.

There was an SUV on the side of the road. Blue. Mud spattered. Dent in the rear bumper. Both front doors hanging open. Two werewolves fighting a short distance in front of it. Viciously. Not a fair fight. One was small and curly-haired, trying to deflect blows with upraised hands, his sounds of distress pure wolf. The werewolf looming over him smashed a fist into his face, sending an arc of bright blood through the air. He was broad and big, messy brown hair falling in his face, and he panted harshly, half-growling. Steve was already moving, the pickup still rolling to a halt as he threw himself out of the door to tackle the big one.

This was easy. This was simple. Every sense was ramped up to the maximum at the surge of adrenaline as he slammed the big werewolf into the side of the SUV, buckling the rear door. There were no doubts here, nothing he could get wrong, nothing to misunderstand. "No," he growled. "Not okay."

He could hear the curly-haired werewolf moving, shifting painfully, panting, every gasp of breath a little whine and he said over his shoulder, "Get in my truck. It's gonna be okay. I promise."

The big werewolf surged against his hold, tried to punch Steve, and Steve, faster, stronger, caught both his wrists in one hand and closed his other hand around his throat, shoving him back. The guy choked on a laugh. "You're Steve, right?"

It threw him. "What?"

"We heard about you." And he grinned, all teeth, a wolf grin, threat and promise, and twisted, his attempt to knee Steve in the balls blocked as Steve twisted and slammed him against the SUV again, then a sharp pain in his thigh had Steve whipping around.

The curly-haired werewolf was holding a massive hypodermic and skittering backwards, stinking of guilt and fear. Whatever he'd jabbed him with was _burning_ through him. Steve snarled, shoving himself away from the SUV, from the big werewolf before he could get hold of him. He could feel himself trying to shift, instincts reaching for the wolf for protection, because he was suddenly weak, wobbly. He shook his head, trying to clear it; staggered, vision blurring.

Steve bolted. Tried. He made it one step, two, before he hit his knees. The world swam around him, but he dragged himself up, tried to keep going, then lightning exploded under his skin, through his bones, whiting out his vision.

The dark caught him and dragged him down, twisting and twitching, scraping at the dirt with hands curling into paws. If he could have made it to the forest he might have saved himself, but the lightning came again and the world sank away into nothing.

 

* * *

 

If Steve had been conscious, he would have had very little sympathy for the curly-haired werewolf he'd thought he was saving, who was gingerly touching his nose and wincing. "Did you need to hit me so hard?"

"Had to sell it. He had to be _rescuing you_ ," he sneered, tossing an oversized cattle prod into the SUV. "He'd have known if I was faking."

"I think you broke my ribs. And my nose."

The larger werewolf rolled his eyes and opened the rear of the SUV. "Stop your bitching and be glad I didn't do worse. You'll heal. Pity you can't say the same for your car." They both looked at the dent in the door. "Never mind." He heaved Steve up, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, tossed him in the back, then pulled off what was left of his half-shredded clothes, covered him with a blanket, and piled some shopping bags on top of him. "That stuff gonna keep him out?"

"For about six hours. I wasn't expecting him to be so big, but I've got more." He paused, shoulders hunched. "Did we do—" He stopped at the fierce glare being directed his way.

"What?" It was almost a growl.

"Nothing."

"You ride in the back and keep an eye on him, dose him up again if you have to. Now let's go. Cole's gonna be pissed if we take too long and then what I did's gonna seem like hugs and kisses."

Before they left the big werewolf scuffed up the road, rubbing the spray of blood into the dirt, pulled the pickup onto the side of the road, rolled up the window, locked the doors, and tossed the keys into the brush.

 

* * *

 

A couple of hours after Steve left Bucky finally got up. He stretched and scratched his stomach, then stumbled into the kitchen for coffee, making a face when he opened the fridge. No milk. _Ah well, black coffee's fine._

He drank it sitting on the bottom step, feet in the grass, head tipped back, eyes closed, basking in the sun. It was another perfect spring day, the faintest hint of a breeze creeping in around the ancient trees. Steve would be back soon, he could have proper coffee and a proper good morning, and the day would continue getting better.

When Steve still wasn't back an hour later, he didn't worry. Steve going into town could end up taking longer than he wanted it to, because people liked Steve. They'd get chatting to him, asking after Bucky when Bucky wasn't with him, telling Steve about their cats or their grandkids or their cars or their knitting, and Steve would always patiently listen.

No wonder they liked him.

Bucky didn't start to worry when lunch time rolled around, because maybe Steve had stopped to grab something to eat. Even though he'd usually text, see if Bucky wanted something.

He didn’t start to worry when his texts to Steve went unanswered. He didn't start to worry when his calls went to voicemail.

He didn't.

Bucky washed the dishes, then paced the house, paced around the house. He called Becky at the grocery store and casually asked if she'd seen Steve. She hadn't, but _I'll be sure to tell him you're looking for him if I see him_ and _Is everything okay, Bucky_? _You two aren't having problems, now, are you?_.  He placated her with a story spun of _Everything's fine, Steve just left his phone at home, but can you tell him to grab eggs if he shows up?_ then got off the phone as fast as he could.

When the sun dipped low in the sky, the ancient trees casting long shadows towards the horizon, and he still couldn't get hold of Steve he decided _screw it_ and started walking.

He didn't start to worry when he found their pickup parked on the side of the road. Locked. Steve's phone in the cup holder where he left it when he was driving.

No, he didn't start to worry. Worry didn't cover it. He swallowed hard, breathed deep, and made himself stay calm. Made himself think. _Steve's not here. Neither are his clothes. The truck's locked and parked. So he went...somewhere in human shape, but he left his phone._

_Somewhere he can't or hasn't come back from. But he wouldn’t have gone without telling me. Not if he had a choice._

Something's wrong. It was gut-deep certainty. His mind was saying he was probably overreacting—Steve was a werewolf, everything was probably fine—but his gut was saying something was wrong.

He couldn’t call the sheriff. Not like they'd listen anyway, not after less than a day, and Steve was a _werewolf_. If something had happened to him it wasn't like anyone human could help.

There was only one person he could think to call. _Who you gonna call?_ Hysterical laughter tried to shove its way out of his throat and he forced it down. He didn't know if she'd even talk to him, regardless of how well their last encounter had ended.

He pulled out his keys, unlocked the truck, climbed in, and took a deep breath. It was his imagination, he knew, but he thought he could smell Steve, feel the warmth of him in the old vinyl. With another fortifying breath he made the call, letting his head drop to rest on the steering wheel.

He closed his eyes in relief when she answered. "Yes?"

"Natasha? It's Bucky."

"What do you need?" she asked, not impatiently, but clearly not interested in a chat.

"Steve's missing." He waited, eyes closed, not knowing what she'd say, half expecting her to tell him that Steve had probably gotten sick of him, finally come to his senses, their uneasy truce brokered over Bucky's rescue of three werewolves not enough to wipe out everything that had come before.

"Tell me what happened."

"I don't know. He left this morning to go into town and didn't come back." The sun was setting outside the truck. "Maybe it's nothing, maybe he's fine, but I found the pickup at the side of the road, locked. No sign of the keys or his clothes, but his phone's here. He's just _gone._ " He clamped his teeth shut before anything else could escape.

There was a long silence when he finished. He knew she could hear his heart beating, too fast, through the phone. "Wait." He listened to muffled noises, voices, conversations he couldn't make out. Minutes ticked past, Bucky's metal fingers tightening around the steering wheel as the time stretched. Finally she came back. "We'll be there as soon as we can. You'll pick us up from the closest airfield."

It took his feet out from under him. "You're coming?"

After a moment's silence she said, "Bucky," and her voice was kind in a way he'd never heard, "Steve wouldn’t leave you. He wouldn't disappear for a day without telling you, not if he had a choice. We both know that. We'll be there."

He swallowed hard. "Thank you."

"I'll text you the details."

Bucky ended the call and stared at the phone. She was coming here. That was... He tried to convince himself it was good but he couldn't make himself believe it. Because she wouldn't be coming if she didn't think something was wrong. _Steve._ "Get it together, Bucky," he muttered.

Okay. Okay, a plan. He'd be fucked if he was going back to the house for the night. Steve might come back to where he'd left the truck and if he did Bucky would be waiting, but he did need some things. He figured he broke a land speed record getting back, grabbed his rifle, ammo, bottles of water, some food, and tossed them all into the truck, then pulled the quilt off their bed, and hightailed it back to where he'd found it.

He made himself as comfortable as he could, quilt over his lap, because spring or not the nights were still chilly, his rifle across the back of the seat in easy reach if he needed it, propped his phone in the cup holder next to Steve's, and waited.

A few hours later a text arrived from Natasha. They'd be arriving in the airfield a town over at ten am. Bucky texted back that he'd be there and set the alarm on his phone, just in case he fell asleep.

He doubted he'd need it.

Nothing moved in the darkness, the only sounds the distant cry of night birds and the rustle of animals. Bucky's eyes grew heavy but he didn't sleep. He kept staring out the windows of the truck, watching for a golden wolf, trotting towards him, ears slanted in apology. Or a tall golden man, hangdog and ashamed, explaining why he'd disappeared and scared the shit out of Bucky.

Neither appeared.

The only gold was the inevitable rising sun, driving away the dark, and Bucky rubbed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, holding tight, trying to squeeze away the cold spot of worry in his heart.

It didn't work.

He drank some water and ate some food, because he knew he had to if he wanted to keep going.

When the alarm buzzed on his phone he unloaded the rifle and stowed it under the seat, bundled everything else up and tucked it in the storage container in the truck bed, and headed off to pick up Natasha and whoever _we_ was. He stopped at the house first, in case Steve had come home in the night. He hadn't. He got coffee and used the bathroom while he was there. _The body keeps functioning, no matter what happens_ , he thought while he washed his hands. _Get it together, Bucky_.

 

* * *

 

Light aircraft, prop and jet, were parked far out around the edges of the airfield and the breeze swirled and danced through the short grass like it didn't have a care in the world. Windsocks snapped high above, bright and colourful, and a building on the far side could theoretically have held people, but the place seemed as deserted as the end of the world.

Of maybe he was projecting.

Bucky stood next to the truck, one hand shading his eyes as he watched the plane land.

When Natasha stepped out he felt something ease inside of him. It didn't matter how she felt about him; he knew how she felt about werewolves. He knew how she felt about Steve. And she was here.

He went to meet her.

Sam stepped down behind her, and Clint followed, and Bucky swallowed hard at the evidence of how much they cared about Steve. The pack was Natasha's and Sam's and they'd both come.

When Bucky reached them Clint raised his head slightly to scent the air, dropped his bag, and pulled Bucky into a hug. Bucky struggled pointlessly for a brief second, then gave in, gratefully leaning into Clint. Clint, who he'd spent so much time with while Steve was off spending time with Natasha and the rest of the pack. Clint who was the only one of them he thought he might be able to call a friend. "It's gonna be okay," Clint said, holding him tightly. "You smell like you're about to fall apart."

Bucky gave a watery laugh. "Good nose."

"Best nose in the pack," he said proudly, but he didn't let go and Bucky could feel Clint's strength seeping into him. He heard Sam and Natasha moving closer, close enough he could feel their warmth, werewolf heat radiating off them. They weren't here for him, they were here for Steve, but it didn't matter. Steve was the only thing that mattered.

Bucky went still as the world shifted under him.

Steve was the only thing that mattered.

"Bucky?" Clint sounded concerned.

He drew in a deep breath, let it out slow. "I'm okay." He pulled away and Clint let him go.

"You smell a little better."

"Doubt it, I haven't showered." It was lame, it was bad, but he'd managed a joke. He was oddly proud of himself.

Clint grinned and gave him a light shove. "I wasn't going to mention it."

"Clint, can you change?" Natasha asked. "We're going to need your nose."

"Sure thing, Nat." Clint whisked back into the plane.

At Bucky's surprised look she said, "The pilot's one of us." Then she smiled a wolf smile. "There's more of us than you think." Sam looked momentarily amused.

"Thank you," Bucky said, looking between them, "both of you, all of you, for coming."

"It's no problem," Sam said. "You holding up okay?"

"I don't know how to answer that. Maybe ask me again after you see where the truck was?" Sam nodded and touched his shoulder. It was fleeting but it gave him the courage to turn to Natasha. _Steve is the only thing that matters._ He held tight to that. "Natasha. I know how you feel about me, about humans, and I'm so damn grateful you're here. I'm not sure what to do, what you want me to do, but," he had to take a moment, take a breath, to get the rest out, "if you want me to stay out of the way, out of your way, while you do this, I will. I know you're here for Steve, so whatever you want me to do, I'll do it."

His heart was pounding, because he wanted to scream that she couldn't keep him away, that it was Steve, _his_ Steve, who was missing, he needed to be part of this. Needed to be part of this or he'd go crazy. But he didn't. He couldn’t. What he wanted, what he needed, didn't matter. Only Steve mattered.

Silence greeted his words, a swirl of breeze curling dust around his feet. Her head was tilted slightly as she studied him. "If I told you to go, to leave this to us," Natasha's voice was calm, even, but Bucky could see the wolf in her eyes, "that I'd call you when it was done. Would you do it? Would you go?"

It hurt like a kick in the gut to say it, but he managed. "Yes."

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse as he said, "Because Steve's the only thing that matters."

She stepped closer and he held his ground, but all she did was touch his cheek, light as a feather's brush; like Steve he could feel the strength behind it, knew it would take nothing for her to snap his neck. "Does he know you're so devoted?"

"I think so. I hope so." He _must_ know. Right then, Bucky swore to himself when Steve came home he'd make sure Steve knew exactly what he meant to him. 

"Stay," she said, letting her hand fall. "Be yourself. It's all anyone can ask of you." She turned away and Bucky briefly met Sam's eyes. They were deep and sympathetic and he nodded, then scooped up Clint's bag.

Clint leapt out of the plane, reminding Bucky strongly of Lucky, despite being a big, shaggy black-ticked grey wolf and not a smallish golden dog. He brushed against Bucky's leg and looked up at him, crooked ears twitching forward. The pilot followed, short and stocky but with a familiar way of moving, and handed Clint's clothes to Bucky.

"Good luck," she said quietly, then disappeared back into the plane.

Bucky looked down at the bundle of clothes, then said to Clint, "You'll have to ride in the back. But we can open the window, you can stick your head in the cab." He led the way to his pickup, the wind blowing at their backs. When they were a few feet away, Sam and Natasha froze and Clint growled under his breath.

"What?"

"Strange wolves," Sam said. "Your pickup smells like strange werewolves." He didn't say anything else and Bucky, with a look first at Sam and then at Natasha, bit his tongue and didn't ask, but his worry spiked. He shoved it back down.

Clint took a running leap and hopped into the truck bed while Bucky put his clothes in the storage box, then stowed the bags next to it. Natasha sat in the middle of the bench seat, feet on either side of the gearstick, Sam next to the door, and Clint stuck his nose through the window, resting his head on Natasha's shoulder.

On the drive back, Sam and Natasha had him go through _exactly_ what had happened since Steve left the house yesterday morning. He handed over his phone so they could see times and gave up on being embarrassed about the content of the text messages. When he got to the part about spending the night in the truck, there was a long silence. He didn't look at any of them, kept his eyes firmly on the road, because he wasn't up to being judged, but then there was a wolf nose snuffling his hair and some of the tension uncoiled from inside him.

 

* * *

 

"This is where the truck was parked."

"There were werewolves here, the same one that was in your pickup and another one. And there's blood. Not Steve's," Sam said firmly, crouching down in the road. "Clint?" Clint hopped out of the truck, nose to the ground. They watched him quartering the road, ears flat, a low growl briefly escaping as he lifted his head and gazed into the bushes, and then he bounded into the forest lining the road. Sam shifted his gaze to Bucky. "Do you get many people driving by here?"

"Not a lot. There's no one out here but us and the fire watch tower on the other side of the ridge, and the rangers only man that in fire season. Not many tourists come this way; there's not much out here for them. They mostly head to the lake on the other side of town."

"Would Steve stop if he saw someone? If he saw other werewolves?"

"Yes. If he didn't think they were a threat. Maybe," he rubbed his forehead, thought about Steve, and sighed, "no, _definitely_ if he thought they might be a threat."

"Could someone get close to him?" Natasha asked.

"If they were friendly. If he thought they were in trouble. If they asked for help. Any of those would work."

A jingling noise heralded Clint's return. He stopped in front of Bucky and set the keys he was carrying in his mouth on the road.

"Those are Steve's keys." Bucky leaned over and touched them, then scooped them up. Clint's hackles were bristling. His hand tightened around the keys. "What did you find?"

Clint turned to face Natasha, who nodded. "Go deep, I'll get your clothes." Clint disappeared back into the bushes and Natasha pulled his clothes out of the truck and followed, leaving Bucky staring at Sam.

"Sam?"

"I don't know, Bucky. We won't know 'til he gets back."

He kept staring at Sam, because if he looked anywhere else he didn't know what he was going to do. He knew he shouldn’t. Sam had always been easier going than Natasha, but to werewolves that kind of staring was aggressive as hell. Bucky wouldn't have been surprised if Sam took it badly. But he didn't. He just held Bucky's gaze, calm and quiet, like he was holding Bucky up, like he could hold him forever, and Bucky was grateful beyond words.

It wasn't until Sam pointed with his chin that Bucky realised they'd returned.

"There was a vehicle and two werewolves, and a pretty heavy smell of bleach," Clint said.

"No sign of humans?" Natasha asked sharply.

Clint shook his head. "Not more than we carry just by being around them all the time. But," he hesitated, "the bleach could have been them wiping something out, something they didn't want Steve to smell."  

Natasha's lips thinned, but she didn't say anything else.

"One of them was hurt, his blood's all over the road. There's a hint of something chemical and Steve's blood. Not a lot, but it's there." Clint's voice was aggressively neutral and he was keeping his gaze firmly on Natasha. "He was angry, and then he was afraid. I think he tried to run, but they stopped him. It's _Steve_ , not a lot of werewolves could manage that, so between the chemicals and his blood? I'm thinking they drugged him. And," now he looked at Bucky, "he shifted. He was a wolf when they took him."

He could see it, playing out before his eyes. Two werewolves, Steve stopping, who knew why, maybe just because they were werewolves, and Clint was right, even two of them would have had trouble taking him in a fair fight, so they drugged him..."Drugs barely work on Steve." It was something Steve bitched about whenever he got a headache.

"Get enough of the right kind in the right amounts? They work." Natasha's words were made of certainty, woven through with something darker that chased goosebumps down Bucky's spine; he supressed a shiver.

Steve had been afraid. Steve had shifted _,_ trying to run, to escape, but he couldn’t. They'd hurt him. Scared him. They'd taken him. Steve was _gone_. Until this moment he hadn't believed it, not really. Something wrong, yes, but not _this_.

It ripped through him, thunder and rain and a flash like lightning, alone and dying in the dark; it left him gasping, fingers curled so tight metal creaked and his knuckles went white, jagged pain from the keys cutting into his palm. There were hands on him, one on the back of his neck, the other on his chest, a voice telling him to breathe. "Deep breaths."

Anger was rising, _fury_. Someone had taken Steve. Stolen him. He met Natasha's eyes. It was her hand on his neck, her hand on his chest. Her voice telling him to breathe. There was fury on her face to match his own, a hint of teeth showing. "They took him."

She held his eyes.

"They took Steve." He didn't recognise his own voice. "Natasha."

"I know." There was a snarl in her words, teeth and blood and the promise of pain. "We'll find him."

He believed her. He had to.


	4. Chapter 4

There was cold metal under his naked flesh, cold bars pressed against his shoulders, curled awkwardly in a too small space.

Steve breathed in and every hair stood on end. He'd thought he'd left that scent behind forever.

"I know you're awake." The voice was as familiar as the scent, arrogance rolling off every word. Steve stubbornly kept his eyes closed, trying to gather as much as he could about where he was without sight. There were at least four other werewolves in the room, the two who'd caught him and two he didn't know, plus the one who was too familiar. The metal he was leaning against was strong. He shoved at it experimentally but there was no give. "That won't work." Steve tracked the voice as it came closer, the scent growing stronger. "It's made to hold us. Made to hold you."

Steve heard him crouch next to the—it had to be a cage, didn't it?—cage. "I've got to say, you looked cute in a flower crown." Steve's eyes flew open to meet Cole's as the world swam around him. Cole bared his teeth. "It's a shame—for you, anyway—that you're so unique, what with the gold fur and the blue eyes. But a good looking wolf like you in a flower crown? Those photo are going viral. Imagine my surprise when I saw you on my Facebook feed. But the real shame—again, for you—was that you let someone register you like a dog."

He leaned closer, right next to the cage, and Steve lunged for him, but the world spun and he clonked into the bars instead. Cole never moved.

"Little dizzy, there? That'd be the drugs, a special mix, just for you. You could see the numbers on your dog tag and part of the county name. It took some time but eventually I found you. _Captain_ ," he added on a sneer. 

Bucky could never know, Bucky would never forgive himself. _Bucky_. Cole could never know about Bucky, about what Bucky meant to Steve. He'd kill Bucky for fun, just to hurt Steve. Did he know? _Distract him_.

"Why?" It scraped out of his throat, barely a word, and Steve coughed and tried again. "Why did you even try? What do you want with me? I was _gone_. I've been gone for years."

Dark fury passed over Cole's face. His fingers curled as he bared his teeth. "Werewolves survive because they have a pack. A pack survives because it's got an alpha. Someone strong, decisive, who's not afraid to make the hard choices. Pack members survive because they obey their alpha, instantly, automatically. That's the natural order of things, it's how werewolves survive. There's no time to debate or have a discussion or _vote_. The alpha commands, the pack obeys, and we all live happily ever after."

He snapped his fingers. "Cameron." The curly-haired werewolf, the one Steve had thought he was helping, hurried over from where he'd been huddled against wooden shelves filled with dusty jars and handed Cole a bulky, oversized cattle prod. "But none of that was good enough for you. You thought you knew better. You had to interfere. And you fucked everything up."

"I _left._ "

"And wasn't that convenient. Do your damage and get out. You screwed them all up. They turned on me. Me. The one who protected them and made their decisions for them and gave them a place to live."

Anger burned through some of the drug haze. "You beat them half to death!"

"I _disciplined_ them. All they had to do was obey and show respect. If they did that I never touched them. It was simple, easy. And they turned on me. Because of you."

Steve felt a rush of satisfaction. Of pride. They'd listened. They'd found a better way.

"Oh, you like that, do you? I killed some of them before they drove me off." Steve went still. He could smell the truth of it, hear it in Cole's heartbeat. _How many died?_ "Still feeling proud of yourself?" Steve looked away. "Didn't think so. And now they don't have an alpha, because you screwed with their minds. You broke them. Everything that happens to them without me is your fault."

Steve glared at him. "I never asked to be a werewolf. I never asked to get dragged into your pack."

"Maybe not, but once you were part of it you had to play by the rules. But no, you were too good for that. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to submit to me as your alpha. Then we're going to go pay a visit to my pack. You're going to tell them you got it wrong, then you're going to use that size and strength to help me show them the error of their ways."

"Fine. I submit. Let me out and we'll go take your pack back. I'll tell them whatever you want." _After I rip your throat out._

"Oh sure, let me just open the cage." Cole drove the cattle prod into Steve's side and it was agony, lightning savaging him right down to his bones. He tried to grab it but his hands wouldn't obey. All he could do was grit his teeth and curl around the pain as it went on and on, turning his muscles to jelly. "Liar. I know this'll take time. I'm prepared to wait. But you will submit. I've got drugs and pain and patience on my side, and I've already waited this long."

Eventually the pain stopped; by then the jab of the needle barely registered and the drugs dragged him down into a twisted, nightmare haze.


	5. Chapter 5

"They had a vehicle, and that's a place to start. Bucky? Any ideas?" Sam asked.

"Let me think for a minute." They were sitting in the living room, Natasha and Sam on the couch, Clint sprawled on the floor, Bucky perched on the edge of a dining table chair. Trying to herd his thoughts into something useful when they wanted to scatter like sheep in the face of worry and anger, neither of which were any help.

"You think, I'm making coffee. Can't imagine you got a lot of sleep in your truck last night," Clint said, hauling himself off the floor and disappearing into the kitchen.

"There's no milk," Bucky said quietly and bit the inside of his cheek. No milk. Fuck. Steve. He took a focusing breath and pulled up a mental map of the town and the surrounding roads. He knew them so well he could probably drive them with his eyes closed. "There's only one road into town once you turn off the freeway, and you have to go through town to get here. The gas station at the turn off into town, I'm pretty sure it's got cameras, and this time of year, especially that early in the morning? There's not going be a lot of people driving past."

"So we need to get a look at them," Natasha said. "Do you know who runs it?"

"No. I mean, I know who she is, but I don't _know_ her." Bucky ran through the complicated tangle of relationships and feuds living in a small town had forced him to learn and realised, "But I do know her cousin."

"The joys of a tiny town," Natasha said. "Everyone knows everyone."

"Except half the people don't like each other. They had to build a second bar just so everyone had somewhere to drink." He huffed a quiet laugh. "Everyone likes Steve, though."

Clint came out of the kitchen and handed him a coffee. "It's the smile," he said, then gave one to Natasha and to Sam, went back for his, and plopped down to sit at Natasha's feet.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"Steve's smile. No one can resist it. In either shape."

Bucky stared at his coffee, picturing Steve, smiling, laughing, as a human and a wolf, and then he nodded. Smiled a tiny smile of his own. "It's a good smile." 

They gave him a minute, then Natasha asked, "Can you call them? The cousin?"

"For a favour like this? I think I'd better do it in person."

 

* * *

 

Frank's place was almost as far out of town as the house in the forest, just on the other side. When Bucky drove up the driveway, Clint in the passenger seat, a chubby yellow dog came waddling out of the shade of a tree and started barking at them.

"Hey, a dog!"

"I think that's Brandy," Bucky said, remembering the day Frank had told him about the first time Steve—only Frank didn't know it was Steve, he thought he was a wolf Frank had christened Blue Eyes—had shown up and started playing with Frank's dog.

"Good name." Clint nodded in approval. "Hey, Brandy," he said out the window and she panted up at him and stopped barking.

Frank was on the porch when they pulled up, running one hand through his thinning silver hair. "Bucky," he called. "This is a surprise."

Bucky climbed out of the truck, Clint following, and Brandy threw herself on the ground at Clint's feet, gazing up at him in adoration. He grinned and crouched down to pat her.

"Frank, sorry for just showing up unannounced. I've got, uh, a favour to ask."

Frank was watching Clint and Brandy thoughtfully, but now he looked at Bucky. "It's always the way," he said mournfully. "No one comes to see an old man unless they want something."

On any other day Bucky would have played along, would have made a joke, but he was too tired, too worried. He just looked at Frank, shoulders slumped. Frank's expression morphed into concern. "Well. Bad as all that, is it?"

"It's not good."

"What do you need, Bucky?"

"Your cousin runs the gas station, right?"

"Sure does, she has done for going on forty-odd years now."

"Has she got cameras?"

"Far as I know, unless something's changed recently. She put 'em in when the Miller boys were trying to steal gas for their tractors, oh, about fifteen-twenty years ago. Why?"

He exchanged a look with Clint, who was rubbing Brandy's belly, and said, very carefully, "Someone stole my dog. I know when they must have done it, they would have needed to drive through town to get out to my place, and I thought we might be able to see them on the footage from her cameras."

A long, profound silence followed. Brandy sat up, ears pricked, then walked over to sit by her master. When Frank finally spoke, his voice was kind. "Bucky."

Bucky swallowed hard, sure he wasn't going to like whatever was coming. "Yes?"

"You don't have a dog."

"No, I—"

"And I know you called Becky at the grocery store looking for Steve."

"That's—"

Frank didn't let him finish. "Can I tell you a story?"

Clint moved to stand next to Bucky, watching Frank carefully.

When Bucky didn't answer, Frank kept going. "A few years ago a wolf shows up—you know the one, Blue Eyes—a wolf who chooses to come down where there's people and dogs, I think because he's lonely, and he plays with those dogs, gentle as anything, when most wolves think dogs are a meal. If Katie's telling the truth, and I've never known the kid to be a liar, Blue Eyes saved her life. Then you come along, living alone way out in the forest, and Blue Eyes disappears, Blue Eyes who never acted like a wolf. Next thing I know, you're living with your boy Steve, who came out of nowhere and who's got the same blue eyes, and we never see the wolf again."

Bucky didn't move, his face gave nothing away, but his heart _stopped_. Beside him, he felt Clint go still.

Frank smiled and bent down to scratch Brandy behind the ears. "Now I've been alive a long time and I've seen things even you wouldn’t believe. So I'm not asking and you're not telling, and I'm not saying anything to anybody. I know how to keep secrets. But I'm saying to you: in these parts we look after our own and you and Steve, you're our own. Okay? No matter what. Understand?"

Hesitantly, Bucky nodded.

"Good boy. Now, you need to see the tapes from Jessie's cameras?"

Bucky nodded again.

"That won't be a problem. Let's give her a call." 

 

* * *

 

They were on their way back, Jessie having agreed to let them come by and see her cameras after the gas station closed, when Clint looked at Bucky and said, "The old guy knows Steve's a werewolf."

"Yeah, I think he does."

"Is that gonna be a problem?"

"I don't think so." He glanced at Clint briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "He's how I met Steve in the first place."

Clint's eyebrows went up. "This story I need to hear."

"You heard some of it. I thought Steve was a wolf. An actual wolf. He used to play with Frank's dog, a bunch of other people's dog's, too. When I saw him, I," he shook his head at the memory, "freaked out a bit because he was a wolf, which Frank thought was hilarious." Clint laughed at him. "Hey, Steve is huge! It was justified."

"Uh huh, of course it was."

Bucky made a face at him. "Anyway, after that he started showing up in the forest, following me. I made friends with him. Which was so stupid," he said quietly, remembering that moment when Steve had made his way across the grass and Bucky had touched him. "Or it would have been if he'd actually been a wolf. Except he wasn't. He was Steve."

He fell silent after that, lost in thoughts of Steve. Clint squeezed his shoulder, but left him in peace. After a few miles he stirred. "I think we don't tell Nat. She's not real keen on humans knowing about us."

 

* * *

 

Steve's thick fur was a cushion between his skin and the metal bars, but shifting to wolf shape had been harder than it should have been. Before he'd shifted he'd tried the bars, tried to bend them, but they wouldn't budge; they were too strong and he...wasn't. The strength he was so used to simply wasn't there, his muscles weak, shaky, and he was still cold. He didn't know if he was shivering because of the room—underground, brick walls against the dirt, no heat—or whatever they were pumping into him.

"Enjoying the drugs?" Cole was pacing around the cage. Steve squeezed his eyes shut; watching him was making the world fade in and out. "They'll help you along, make you more malleable, give you a little push. A nice little cocktail, courtesy of Cameron here. He's one of my best finds. It's a little on the nose, having a vet for a werewolf, but you can't have everything. And he's got this great cabin out here where no one will find us. Not that anyone's going to be looking for you. That's the problem when you don't have an alpha, when you don't have a pack. There's no one to protect you. No one to make the hard choices." Cole shook his head sadly. "Cameron doesn't have that problem anymore. Isn't that right, Cameron?"

"Yes, Cole."

"That’s right. Because I made him into a werewolf and he was smart enough to know his place. And as long as he _keeps_ knowing his place, everything will be fine. Peaceful. Smooth. Easy. Just like it would have been with you, if you'd bothered to know _your_ place. But no, you decided to buck the system." He gestured to Cameron. "Give him another dose."

"But he's not due for..." The words trailed off as Cole slowly turned to stare at him.

"Give him another dose." Each words was bitten off with a snap of teeth.

Cameron cringed, lifting his chin as high as he could. "Yes, sorry. Right away."

"Better." Fear flavoured the air as Cameron prepared another dose then fixed the hypo to the long stick and jabbed it into Steve's flank. "Now," Cole crouched near Steve's head, voice dropping to a low croon, "imagine how much simpler life would be if you submitted. No more worrying. No more stress. All you have to do is submit."

The drugs were dragging at him, pulling him under, but Steve found the strength to muster a rumbling growl. Cole _tsk'd_ and drove the cattle prod into his side, over and over, Steve writhing and twisting, until he was so far under he couldn't feel it. 

When Cole was gone, Cameron leaned close to the cage and whispered, "I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I'll do what I can."

 

* * *

 

The gas station was immaculate, three gleaming red pumps out front and a single large wooden building that was half store and half garage, painted elegantly white with dark blue trim. Bucky suspected it had looked the same on the day it opened, and he was pretty sure it was going to look the same on the day it finally closed.

Jesse was waiting for them as they pulled in, wiping her hands on a rag as she stood in front of the garage. She was tall and plump, wearing a pair of coveralls with grease on one knee, her iron grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, crow's feet crinkling the corners of her eyes. "You need to see the tapes from yesterday?" she asked as Bucky got out of the pickup, Sam and Natasha hopping out the other side, Clint having stayed behind.  

Bucky nodded and started to say, "Someone stole—"

She held up a hand. "Don't need to know, don't want to know." It was kind but firm. "Tapes are in there," she pointed to a door marked 'Office' next to the garage, "labelled by day. I put the morning's in the machine. It's on top of the TV. Take your time. I'll be in the garage. Just let me know when you're done."

"Thank you," Bucky said, and she nodded at him and walked into the garage.

The machine turned out to be a VCR and the TV was an old CRT, as deep as it was tall. "I wasn't expecting actual tapes," Sam said, but they gathered around to watch scratchy video of a road, broken only by the occasional bird or curious deer.

Until an SUV, mud splattered, rear door deeply dented, came into view and turned onto the main road, heading for the highway. They kept watching, but only two other cars and a pickup went past and Bucky recognised all three; they all belonged to people who lived in town.

"So it has to be that one," Sam said. "Process of elimination." There was a hint of growl on _elimination_. Sam rewound the tape and paused on the SUV. "It's too scratchy to see much. Can't even make out the plates properly. Could be the tape, could be the machine, could be the crappy TV."

The swirl of anger and despair nearly choked Bucky, and Sam and Natasha stared at him. "We can get it cleaned up," Natasha said. "Bucky." There was a bite in her voice that snapped his gaze to hers. "This is just the start." After a minute, he nodded. "Go ask if we can have the tape."

He suspected she was getting rid of him, but he didn't care. He went and found Jesse in the garage, half hidden under the hood of a car, and asked if they could take the tape. He explained that what they needed might be on it, but that it wasn't clear enough, that they might be able to make it clearer. She gave him a considering look, then asked him if it was important.

"Maybe the most important thing in the world."

"Then you take it with my blessings. And good luck to you."

When he came back Natasha was putting her phone away and the tape was tucked under her arm. "Clint and I are going to take this to someone who should be able to do something with it. Sam's going to stay with you."

It only took him a second to realise why: in case the werewolves who took Steve decided to come back. "Okay. And Jesse said we can have the tape." Not that her saying no would have made the slightest bit of difference to any of them.

 

* * *

 

Bucky could hear his pickup pulling out of the drive, Natasha and Clint heading off with the tape. They'd stopped on the way back from the gas station to pick up take out, the girls in the diner shooting Bucky concerned looks while they waited for their order. He wondered how far Becky had spread the gossip that he'd been looking for Steve. None of them had asked any questions, like _Where's Steve?_ or _Who are your friends, Bucky?_ , thankfully distracted by how _much_ food they'd ordered. It took a lot to feed three werewolves.   

"You need to sleep." Sam's arms were crossed as he leaned in the kitchen doorway.

"Yeah." He rubbed at his eyes. They were dry, burning. Sam was right. But _should_ and _could_ were different things and the idea of curling up in bed without Steve left him cold.

"Sleep on the couch if it's easier." He shot Sam a startled look, wondering if Sam could read his mind. "I can shift and sleep outside."

"You don't have to, not unless you want to. We've got a spare room." Bucky dragged himself up from the couch and found himself pushed right back down. Sam was fast, so fast Bucky hadn't seen him move, and the hand on his shoulder was holding him in place.

"Sit, Bucky. I can deal with it. If that's okay? Your house, your territory, not trying to overstep, but you're dead on your feet."

"Yeah, Sam. That's fine. It's," he slumped back down, "it's fine."

"Okay." He sat on the couch, listening to Sam make up the spare room. He was still sitting there when Sam came back out. "I'm going to grab a couple of hours." He hesitated, then asked, "Do you want me to stay out here with you? I can shift, the floor's pretty comfy when you're a wolf."

"No." He found a smile from somewhere, because it was such unexpected kindness. "Two beds in the house, one of them should get some use."

Sam nodded. "Alright. You yell if you need me."

"I will."

He lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, as the night ticked past. Eventually he got up, grabbed Steve's pillow off their bed, went back to the couch, and buried his face in it. An hour or so later he fell into a restless doze, filled with dreams of a golden wolf that, no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't quite reach.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun rose and Bucky woke up, eyes gritty with lack of sleep. Clint and Natasha weren't back. Sam was awake, drinking coffee quietly at the dining room table.

"I'm going for a run," Bucky decided.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Fine with me."

While Bucky got ready Sam disappeared into the spare room and came out as a wolf. He was beautiful, his dark grey coat smooth and sleek, ticked with white and silver, shading to softer grey and pale brown at his muzzle. His thick furred ears tilted towards Bucky.

"Let's go."

Bucky ran, his feet carrying him down the old path, the one he used to run when he thought Steve was only a wolf. He ran hard, fast, pushing himself, the beat of his heart and the pounding of his feet filling his mind and his ears and the whole world. The weight of his left arm pulled at his shoulder with every swing.

Sam ran beside him, fleet footed, light footed, barely touching the earth as he kept pace.

Eventually awareness faded and he was nothing but motion. One foot in front of the other. He ran until sweat dripped in his eyes. Until everything burned. Until he was gasping. There was a wolf in his way; it wasn't Steve because Steve was gone, Steve was taken. They were deep in the forest under ancient trees and the wolf was blocking him. He kept pushing forward because he knew it couldn't stop him, he knew how to get past a wolf, but there were hands on his shoulders, dragging him to a halt and a voice saying, "Bucky. Stop. Enough. I know. I _know_ , but you have to stop."

"You don't know," he panted. " _You don't_ _know_." It was poison from a lanced wound, exploding out of him, splashing over Sam. "What do you know? Steve's gone, I love him and he's gone, he's—" Bucky's voice cracked and he wrenched against Sam's grip, pointless, fruitless, because Sam held on tight.

"I know because _I've been you_." Bucky's mouth snapped shut, there was so much pain in Sam's voice. "I've been where you are, a human who's pack of one to a werewolf," a brief smile, love and loss and countless emotions Bucky couldn't name but _knew,_ appeared then faded, "and I lost him."

"What?"

"He took the brunt of a hit meant for me, but it was still too much, we were both dying, and he found the strength to shift and change me." Sam's fingers tightened, bruisingly hard, then loosened but he didn't let go. "I lost him. He died. He saved me and he died. That's why I came. Not just to find Steve. I wanted there to be someone who understands what you're going through. Nat...can't. Clint," he paused, "he'll try. He cares. But it's not the same."

It struck Bucky to the heart. The weight of Sam's hands on his shoulders was an anchor and he closed his eyes. His heart was still racing, he was still breathing hard, but it was slowing, it was evening out. _God._ Sam had come here for _him_. He didn't understand why, but Sam was, this had to be a nightmare. "I'm sorry. Sam, I'm sorry I said you didn't know."

"It's okay. _You_ didn't know. I wasn't going to tell you." Bucky opened his eyes. "But plans change. I loved Riley with my whole heart and my whole soul and he loved me. I lost him, but you are not going to lose Steve. That’s why we're here. Nat doesn't lose. Not now, not ever. She'll tear the world down if that's what it takes. We'll get him back." Suddenly, Sam smiled, grinned, gave Bucky a little shake. "But it's no good getting him back if you're dead from a heart attack. Remember how mad he was when I grabbed you? What would he do if I let you run yourself to death?"

And Bucky felt a small laugh bubble up inside himself, imagining Steve's reaction. "He'd roll his eyes and lecture me about being stupid until I came back from the dead to tell him to shut up. You he'd just buy a beer for having to put up with me."

"There you go," Sam said softly, then stepped back, hands falling to his sides. "Ready to head back?"

Running his hand though his sweaty hair, Bucky nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Sam melted backwards into the depths of the trees, until Bucky could barely see him, and moments later trotted out, pale coat gleaming. He brushed against Bucky's legs and Bucky carefully let his fingers drop to card through the thick fur of his ruff.

Their run home was slow and thoughtful and the space in Bucky's heart was calmer.

 

* * *

 

There were no windows down here under the earth to show him the sun and no rhyme nor reason to when Cole would show up to shock him with the cattle prod, driving it into him again and again. He'd tried grabbing it, to drag it from Cole's hands, to destroy it, but it never seemed to be where he thought it was, his body too slow, his teeth snapping shut on empty air.

"All you have to do is submit and this ends." Cole sighed. "You think I'm enjoying this?"

Steve honestly didn't know. The scent coming off Cole was a jumbled mess, the drugs were twisting Steve, leaving him confused, and Cameron would come downstairs reeking of fear and sometimes blood and pain, adding to the confusion. He'd stab Steve through the bars, the hypodermic on a long stick, and Steve's stumbling clumsiness as he whirled couldn't evade it, because it was never where he thought it was.

Nothing was where he thought it was, nothing was _what_ he thought it was, the drugs in control. Steve curled into a tight ball and put his tail over his nose as they burned though him, pulling him into hazy unreality.

His nose was full of Cole's scent, full of fear and blood and pain, just like it had been all those years ago when he'd been dragged back to that ancient looming house on the edge of town. He was cold, shivering, wracked with sudden hot flashes, just like all those years ago.

 _Leave him to die._ Cole's rough hands shoving him this way and that, like someone inspecting a hunk of sub-standard meat, as Steve had shaken with fever, agony radiating from the bite in his side. _You screwed up,_ followed by a crack of shattering bone, _leave him to die_.

Had he ever left? Maybe he was still there, alone in the dark, waiting to die. Maybe he'd imagined everything that came after, the forever sickly kid's perfect fantasy, to be suddenly transformed into perfect health, into power and strength and speed.

How could it be real? How could any of it be real?

 _Leave him to die._ It was all a fever dream, his mind's last gift, rolling out an impossible future that could never be.

Except...

Except Bucky. That would mean Bucky wasn't real. That would mean Steve had imagined _Bucky_. Bucky who'd opened his home and his heart to a werewolf. Bucky, who was courageous beyond reason, who gave beyond measure.

It must have happened. It must have been real, must be real, because there was no part of him, nothing good enough or brave enough or strong enough, to have ever created Bucky.

"Hi Steve."

 _Bucky._ Steve opened his eyes and he was standing in the pack's house at the edge of town, skinny and short, pale and naked, the old surgery scars running down the middle of his chest, across his heart, the bite wound throbbing above his hip. Bucky was standing in front of him, smiling gently.

Steve panicked. "No. No! Bucky, no, you can't be here. You can't! They'll kill you, they'll slaughter you, I can't protect you, I can't keep you safe. I can't—"

"Shh, Steve. It's okay. It's okay." There were metal fingers on his shoulder, pulling him closer, calloused fingers sliding down his side to rest above the bite.

"It's not okay, Bucky. It's not okay. You being here is not okay."

Bucky's face fell. "You don't want me here?"

"I always want you. But it’s not safe."

"There's no one here, no one's going to hear us. They left you to die, remember?"

Steve shuddered.

"Now lie down. You need to rest." Bucky was gentle, firmly pushing him backwards onto the bed, strong hands cradling his shoulders as he lowered Steve to lie down. Bucky pulled the blankets over him, tucking them under his chin, then lay down next to him, curving around him. "You're not going to die. You're going to live and be magnificent. I know. I promise."

"But you can't be here." Cole's scent was getting stronger, closer. "He'll kill you. Bucky—"

"Having a good dream?"

Cole's voice split the air and Steve panicked, because he couldn't protect Bucky, he couldn't keep him safe, Cole would kill him, he couldn't protect him. "Now that's a good sign." Steve struggled to focus, fighting up from under the haze, sucked in a gasping breath and there was no Bucky. No sign of his scent. Bucky wasn't here. _Bucky was safe_.

He opened his eyes to see Cole pull the trigger on the cattle prod, making it spark. "That's the first time I've smelt anything like fear. Let's see if we can build on that."

 

* * *

 

Bucky was half-dozing fitfully on the couch, curled in a ball where he'd collapsed when they got back from their run, sock-clad feet carefully not touching Sam, who was chuckling quietly to himself as he read one of Bucky's terrible werewolf romance novels, when Clint came bounding up the stairs, followed by Natasha.

Bucky opened his eyes to Clint leaning over him. "What did you find?"

"Nothing yet. She's gonna call us as soon as she has something." Bucky closed his eyes with a small, pained noise, and Clint patted him soothingly. "It shouldn't take long. Go back to sleep. You look like crap."

"Thanks."

Bucky didn't sleep, just lay with his eyes closed and his mind a careful blank, while Natasha did something on his laptop and Sam read bits of the book out loud. Natasha's occasional laughter was unexpected, Clint's melding with hers from the kitchen where the smell of food was speaking directly to Bucky's stomach, bypassing the rest of him completely.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Clint grabbed his leg and shook him. "Up. Go shower. Make yourself human. Pancakes in ten minutes. Go on," he said when Bucky stared at him blankly. "We've got sensitive noses." He grinned, taking any sting out of it.

Bucky nodded and went and grabbed clean clothes and a fresh towel, then grabbed a pile of towels and brought them out to drop on the couch. "If anyone else wants a shower. The hot water tank's not huge, so you'll need to be quick." Without waiting for a response, he went and let a quantity of hot water pour down on his head, scrubbing himself near raw, but he felt better afterwards. Cleaner. More refreshed. Like he could think again. _Steve. Where are you?_

There were pancakes and bacon and eggs and Bucky once more stared in amazement at how much food three werewolves could eat. He was sure that much food didn't exist in their kitchen, and said so. "We stopped for groceries," Natasha said serenely. "Someone named Becky told us to say hi to you."

Before he could reply, and he wasn't sure what he would have said, because the idea of Natasha in the local grocery store wasn't a concept it was easy to wrap his head around, Clint's phone rang.

"Hello," Clint said, finishing a mouthful of bacon while he answered it. "Hang on." He grabbed paper and a pen. "Okay, go. Plate number, uh huh. Yup. Got it," Clint scribbled on the paper, "and okay _that_ could be useful. University of Minnesota at Duluth. Anything else? Couldn't get a good angle on the faces? That's okay, I know what they smell like, that's better than a picture any day. Send me the screenshots anyway? Thanks, you're the best. Yeah, I'll let you know how it comes out."

"Duluth, that's what, about four, five hours away?" Sam asked. Bucky barely heard him. "Bucky." Sam tapped him on the shoulder.

"What?"

"Duluth, that's about a five hour drive, right?"

"Yeah, about that. A little longer in the truck, but that's not going to work...Clint, did you say University at Duluth?"

"Yeah. University of Minnesota, Duluth campus. There was a parking permit in the back window. Had their logo, clear as day once she cleaned it up."

"I've got to make a call." He disappeared into the bedroom to get Steve's phone. When he came out he was already calling. Extreme awkwardness was the ultimate setting agent and Maria's words were firmly embedded in his memory: _I know that what Jane and her group do may seem like a waste of time to you, but it's serious science, she teaches classes at dozens of universities, and just because you personally haven't seen anything strange doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist._

"Hello?" Bucky recognised her voice. Friendly, but clearly communicating _please don't waste my time or it's not going to go well for you_.

"Maria?"

"Yes?"

"It's Bucky. Bucky Barnes, from when we took Jane and FitzSimmons out cryptid hunting? Looking for screaming yams? And you met Steve? And talked physics?"

"I remember. Is something wrong?"

"Why would something be wrong?"

"Because one, you're calling me, two, you're calling me from Steve's phone, and three, I don't think you'd usually spend so much time making sure I remember who you are and the...circumstances of our meeting."

He let out a breath. "Something's wrong."

"And you need my help."

"Not exactly."

There was a slight pause. "Maybe you'd better just tell me what's going on."

"If someone had a University of Minnesota parking permit on their car, from the Duluth campus. And I had their plates... You said Jane lectures at dozens of universities."

There was a long silence, finally broken by, "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Steve. He's...gone."

"Not by choice, I take it."

"No."

"And you can't go to the police?"

"No. Can you help me?"

"Maybe. Jane's lectured there, not at that campus, but accessing that kind of data. It's completely against the rules, and Jane only asks people to break the rules for really good reasons."

Bucky's heart sank. Jane was a cryptozoologist, one who didn't believe werewolves existed. Finding out she was wrong would probably be the best reason possible. "You want to know if you can tell her about Steve." Sam and Clint went on the alert and Natasha was suddenly beside him, a hand on his arm, the werewolves easily able to hear both sides of the conversation.

"No! Bucky, no. You and Steve trusted me, just like I trusted you." Natasha's expression shifted from warning to curious. Bucky winced, but there was no way to take it back. "I won't betray that. I'll do my best, but you need to understand I might not be able to get what you need." She gave a short, sharp sigh. "If I was there, I'd come and help."

"Where are you?"

"We're in Tromsø. Norway," she added. "Jane's the keynote speaker at a conference. Cryptids in Norse mythology and modern myth."

"Oh."

"I know." Maria laughed quietly. "Bucky? Text me the details. And," she said, suddenly thoughtful, "there might be another option. Leave it with me. Do you need help? I could make some calls."

"It's okay. I've got help. Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't done anything." And then she was gone.

He put down the phone and held up a hand. "Please don't ask, it's not my secret to tell, but it's not another human who knows about werewolves."

Sam and Clint both looked at Natasha, who tilted her head slightly—werewolves knew a lie when they heard one and Bucky wasn't lying—then nodded and said, "Send her the details then pack what you need. We're heading to Duluth. Whether she comes through or not, it's a place to start."

 

* * *

 

When they pulled onto the highway they did so in comfort, Sam and Clint stretched out in a spacious back seat, Natasha driving, Bucky riding shotgun.

The car belonged to Dum Dum. The pickup was tolerable for hauling three werewolves and Bucky short distances. It wasn't fine for a long trip, so Bucky called in the favour Dum Dum owed him and they traded vehicles. Dum Dum hadn't asked any questions, just tossed Bucky his keys and told him to be careful.


	7. Chapter 7

The crack of bone reached Steve on the top floor on the pack's house. He hit the second floor landing to the sound of a second crack, and a crunch greeted him as he burst through the kitchen door, ripping it off its hinges.

Wanda was down, both legs bent at unnatural angles, and she was twisted in a way Steve was sure meant her back was broken. Cole was standing over her. There was a pot of soup boiling over on the stove, but the sharp tang of burnt chicken and garlic didn't cover the smell of pain. Werewolf pain and werewolf fear were two smells Steve had become intimately familiar with. Wanda whimpered once, cut off sharply when Cole glared at her.

Steve took two steps forward and the glare was transferred to him. "Stay where you are."

"She needs _help_."

"Stay. There." There was a growl in his voice. "I'm getting sick of you challenging my dominance. You want to challenge me? Then challenge me and I'll put you in the ground. If not, then _learn your place_."

Steve quivered, eyes locked with Cole's, frozen. Behind Cole, Bucky calmly walked in from outside and knelt next to Wanda, smoothing the hair out of her eyes. "This guy really did a number on her. What pissed him off so much?"

Heart racing, Steve's gaze flicked from Cole to Wanda and back, but neither of them were moving. They didn't know he was there. "I don't know. I never knew. I just came in and she was on the ground. I couldn't help her. She wouldn't let me help her. Told me to get out, that I needed to learn my place. Same thing Cole said."

With a gentle touch on Wanda's shoulder, Bucky stood and came to take Steve's hand. "Could be she was trying to protect you. There's roads you can't turn back once you start to walk down them, and you were just a baby. If you'd challenged him back then he could have killed you. Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Outside. You could use some sun." He followed as Bucky led him outside to the patches of stunted grass and hard packed dirt that passed for lawn in a house full of werewolves.

He didn't resist as Bucky pushed him to sit on the ground, rearranging Steve until he was satisfied, and then sat in front of him, leaning back against Steve's chest. It was automatic, irresistible, to wrap his arms around him. Even though, "You can't be here."

"Can't or _can't_?"

"Both."

"Mmm, tough, because here I am." Bucky turned and slid his arms around Steve, holding on tight, the metal arm a comforting, familiar weight against his back.

"It's not safe." Steve pressed his face into Bucky's shoulder. "You're not safe." But Bucky didn't leave, Bucky didn't move, Bucky just held him under the cloudless sky, the sun never moving, the air unnaturally still, until the reek of Cole overwhelmed everything and panic flared because _Bucky_ as the world dissolved into fire and lightning and pain.

Every muscle seized and he opened his eyes to see Cole standing above him, wielding the cattle prod, but the panic faded because there was no hint of Bucky's scent. Bucky wasn't here. Bucky was safe, somewhere far away, and he closed his eyes again and braced himself against the pain because, whatever Cole did to _him_ , Bucky was safe.

 

* * *

 

It was early evening by the time they pulled into Duluth. Bucky had booked a hotel suite on the drive ("Better make it pet-friendly," Sam had pointed out) not an unreasonable distance from the campus. As soon as they got inside, Clint stripped off and shifted, crooked ears flicking forward.

"We'll go check out the campus, see if we can pick up a scent," Sam said.

"I'm coming with you." Bucky moved towards the door, but Natasha stepped into his path.

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am. I'm not going to sit here doing nothing." He couldn't, not with a chance of maybe finding something concrete, something real, something that could lead them to Steve.

"Bucky." Her voice was sharp; Clint winced and Sam straightened, turning to face her. "We don't know what they know. We don't know if the ones who took Steve will recognise you. They shouldn't know your scent, I doubt any werewolf would get that close to you, not without Steve knowing, but they might know your face. And if they see you, if they see you _with other werewolves_ , they might take Steve and run and we lose our only lead." She paused. "Or they might decide to cut their losses. We can't take the chance. You have to stay here, out of sight." 

It made sense. It made too much sense. _God fucking damn it._ Metal creaked as he curled his hands into fists, then he let out an explosive breath and forced himself to relax. "Okay. But I want it on the record how much I fucking hate waiting around while you guys actually do something to find Steve." He ran a hand through his hair, then wrapped his arms around himself, looking for that blank spot in his mind.

Natasha lifted her chin and Sam and Clint left, Clint brushing against his legs, warm and solid, before slipping out the door.

He stayed where he was, holding himself tightly, while Natasha worked her way through the suite, touching the walls, the doors, various pieces of furniture, before finally settling cross-legged on the couch. He felt her watching him silently and he glanced over, expecting to see the usual half-blank expression she usually wore when dealing with him.

Instead he found her regarding him thoughtfully. She held his gaze, then beckoned him over, gesturing at the floor in front of her. "Bucky. Sit." He was too weary to argue and he slowly walked over and lowered himself to sit at her feet. There was a delicate touch on top of his head and he almost jumped out of his skin when she ran her fingers through his hair. She paused, waiting; not sure what was going on he settled back down and she resumed. "We'll find him. We'll bring him home. You'll have him back."

Her voice was soft but certain, her fingers were gentle, moving in slow sweeps from his temple to the nape of his neck, and he felt himself uncoiling. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Not finding Steve. I know why you're doing that."

"Do you."

It wasn't a question the way she said it, and it made him hesitate. "I think so." He waited, to see if she'd say anything, but she just kept sliding her fingers through his hair, so he went on, "Why are you being so..." He stopped, stuck, not knowing how to word it, and he finally gave up and said, "You're not treating me like a human. I know how you treat them, how you feel about them, how you treated me, and you're not acting like that anymore."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Do you want to be a werewolf?"

"No."

"We're powerful. Do you want to use us?"

"No!"

"Most humans who find out about us, they want to be us or they want to use us and they don't care what they have to do to get it. It's rare to find one that wants something different." 

"I just want Steve back."

"I know." They sat in silence. Bucky slumped against the couch, felt his shoulder brush her knee and stiffened, but when she didn't pull away, just nudged him gently, he let himself lean against her. "What did you do when you found out Steve could turn into a wolf?"

He laughed, didn't mean to, knew laughing at her wasn't smart, but he couldn't help it. Her fingers tightened slightly and he quickly said, "Sorry. Sorry, it's just, you've got it backwards. I found out he could turn into a _person_. I always knew he was a wolf."

"That you're going to have to explain." He could tell he'd surprised her; he didn't think it happened very often.

"Steve didn't tell you this?" Clint hadn't known, but somehow, with all the time Steve had spent with Natasha, he'd assumed Steve would have told her.

"Steve talks about you annoyingly often, but no, he never told me how you met."

And so Bucky told her while she smoothed her fingers through his hair in long, slow strokes. Every moment of discovering Steve: first meetings and rescue and nightmares and putting his hands on a wild creature, trust given and trust offered and never questioned.

"And what did you do when he turned into a person?" she asked when he trailed off, lost in that moment when Steve had revealed himself.  

"I told him to put on pants."

"Of course you did," she said with a breath of laughter.

"And then I made him move in and gave him a toothbrush and someone to cuddle and fell in love with him."

"And became his pack."

"And became his pack, yeah. And he became my everything. Natasha, I can't—" He snapped his teeth shut on the words, shoved it all back down. They sat in silence for a long time, and her hands never stopped moving, measuring out time like a metronome. "What if we can't get him back. What if...?" He couldn't say the words.

Her hands stilled. "If that happens, if the worst happens, then we'll avenge him. I'll hold down the ones who took him so you can gut them. Slowly. Tear the skin from their bones." Shocked, he jerked his head around to meet her eyes. They were still and deep. "Shall I tell you how I became a wolf?"

For a moment he was back on the ravine's edge, about to plummet into nothing, it was so unexpected. "I'm not sure."

She smoothed her fingers against his temple, brushing his hair back behind his ear. "You need to be sure."

Bucky was certain no one human had ever before been offered this. "Yes. Tell me."

"In the place I was born there were," after a delicate pause she said, "people who knew about werewolves. Who'd worked out how to catch them, control them. How to turn them into pets."

He swallowed hard, blinded by a sudden flash of understanding. "When you saw me with Steve, when Sam grabbed me. That’s what you thought I'd done."

"Yes."

He wondered suddenly what would have happened to him if he _had_ done to Steve what she'd thought: taken him, controlled him, made a pet of him. He decided he didn't need to know. "I'm lucky you were so calm."

"Sam's mellowed my approach," she said with a lilting quirk of humour, but it faded as she continued. "These people, they wanted more wolves, stronger wolves, faster wolves. Younger wolves. They took us, girls every one, because they thought we'd be easier to control, to subdue, that because we were girls we'd be eager to please." She bared her teeth. "And they had their pets change us into werewolves."

Watching her, Bucky wondered how anyone could ever look at her and not see the wolf, lurking in the shadows of her eyes, pacing behind the fragile-seeming illusion of human skin.

"They took us into the wild, into the ice and snow, and told us only the first five who made it back would live, expecting us to turn on each other. But they'd made us wolves and we made ourselves a pack and when they came after us we killed every last one of them." Her hands were gentle, combing through his hair. His lizard brain, his monkey self, that remembered hiding in trees and cowering in caves, whispered _there's a beast behind us_ , _be afraid_ , but he wasn't. He drew in a deep breath and relaxed under her hands. Closed his eyes. Felt her respond, nails gently scratching against his scalp, calm, soothing. "So we _will_ find him. We _will_ take him back. He's yours and you’re his. You're human, but," her hands slid around to cup his jaw, fingers resting over his fragile pulse, tilting his head back, and he opened his eyes to stare up at her, "you're more than that. And you're not alone."

He didn't cry. Heat prickled behind his eyes, but he didn't cry. He managed a nod and she held his eyes for a few more seconds, then let go, dropping her hands to his shoulders and squeezing hard.

They sat together for he didn't know how long, her hands resting on his shoulders, surrounded by a gentle silence. It wrapped around him and through him and he gave himself over to it, breathing slow and even, thoughts fading until he felt peace settling over the fear, over the worry. They weren't gone, far from it, but they'd been soothed by a kind of faith: _we will find him. We will take him back_.

The sudden shrill beep of his phone knocked him out of it, made him jump, heart pounding, and he leapt up to grab it. "It's from Maria. She says: I didn't give her details but Darcy says you owe her, she just got rid of the sleazeball and now she's going to have to start all over again, but he came through with the info you need. The permit belongs to Dr Cameron Klein, Associate Professor of Veterinary Medicine."

Natasha grinned, wide and fierce. "Grab me your laptop."

Bucky did and then perched next to her on the couch as she proceeded to comprehensively and skilfully violate privacy. After half an hour Bucky wondered if he was going to have to burn his laptop. Not that he cared. "Natasha, what do you do for a living?"

"Self-employed," she replied. Bucky decided not to ask _as what._ After another half an hour or so, she absently offered, "You can get anyone's records if you've got a couple of hundred dollars and you know where to look. Most of it isn't even illegal."

"Most of it," Sam said, coming in through the door. "Like you'd care even if all of it was illegal."

She showed him her teeth and he laughed. "Have you got something?"

"Doctor Cameron Klein, teaches at the university. I've got his name, his address, and practically his entire life," she replied while Clint wandered around the room, sniffing each place Natasha had touched, then shifted back and pulled on his clothes. "Bucky's friend came through. What about you?"

"There were signs of one of them, I guess that'd be your Doctor, but the scent was old, like he hadn't been there for a while," Clint replied. "It's exams, so that could be why. Also, every student in the place was nuts, also because of exams, but they didn't notice the dog they were snuggling was a wolf," he grinned, "so that was a win for me." 

"I told them the university had brought us in to provide stress relief to students," Sam said. "No one batted an eye."

"Here we go," Natasha said. "He's very boring, no family, the address I found was an apartment, but he also owns property."

A few quick clicks and she'd brought up Google earth. The property was a small house about fifty miles north-east of Duluth, at the end of a long twisty driveway, all on its own amid scraggly trees. Sam took one look at it and said, "That's a cabin in the woods. Nothing good ever came out of a cabin in the woods."

Bucky looked up at him. "I live in a cabin in the woods."

"No, you live in a house in the forest. _That,_ " Sam pointed at the screen, "is a cabin in the woods. Not the same thing. Figure that's where they've got Steve?" he asked Natasha.

"Good chance."

"At first light?"

"That'd be the best time."

Sam wrapped his hands around Bucky's shoulders and gently lifted him out of the way, taking his place on the couch as he and Natasha began to talk strategy.

Clint drew him further away. "They'll be at this for a while."

"Did we just find Steve?"

"Maybe."

"Why aren't we going now?"

"Because most werewolves keep to human schedules and dawn's when they'll be most vulnerable. So now we eat and get some rest. What do you want on your pizza?" Clint was already tapping his phone. Bucky stared at him, because Steve. Steve was right there and they weren't going. He wondered if he could make it out the door and to the car; he knew he couldn't but part of him wanted to try. Clint's nostrils flared and he stepped closer, wrapped his hand around Bucky's arm and pulled him close. "Bucky."

Bucky subsided. "Anything. No pineapple."

Clint snorted and let him go, nudging him with his elbow. "We're werewolves. We don't put _fruit_ on pizza."

 

* * *

 

"Want me to tell you a bedtime story?" Clint asked.

Sam and Natasha had taken one room of the suite, Clint and Bucky were in the other. In deference to Bucky Clint was wearing pants to bed. He'd made a point of telling Bucky this. Of course, he'd also offered to shift if Bucky was uncomfortable sharing the bed with him in this shape. Bucky had just shaken his head, told him it was fine, so now they were lying side by side. It was strange to have someone next to him who wasn't Steve. Clint gave off heat like Steve did, but everything else about him was different. The way he moved, the way he breathed, even the way he smelled. He wasn't Steve and it made Bucky miss him even harder.

 _Tomorrow. Tomorrow we get him back._ He refused to let himself think about the alternative, about what would happen if they didn't.

"Bucky?" Clint's voice was low, woven through with concern, and he wondered what he was giving off.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise. You're doing great keeping your shit together. It's not your fault we can tell when something sets you off. You're just lucky I've got such good self-control or I'd be hugging the crap out of you right now." 

"Thanks for your restraint."

"No problem. You want that bedtime story?"

"No, it's okay."

"Well, let me know if you change your mind. The distraction might help you sleep."

Bucky didn't answer, just closed his eyes against the light seeping in through the curtains, wished he could close his ears against the noise of the city, wished he could close his heart against the worry, against the fear. His mind drifted back to Natasha's story. He understood so much now.

He understood why she hated humans: of course she did; look what they'd done to her, as girl and wolf.

He understood why she'd told him, or he thought he did: so he'd know her promises—and he knew now that’s what they were, they were promises—were real. They would find Steve. They would bring him home. And if Bucky's world ended and they couldn't, couldn't find him, couldn't bring him home, she would help him kill the ones who'd taken him. 

And now he understood something about himself: he'd let her. When he'd driven through the night to save three werewolves he'd known he didn't have it in him to kill.

He'd been wrong. For Steve he would kill.

He could feel coldness inside him, the same coldness that had saved him when he'd shoved his metal arm down a werewolf's throat, waiting to be called. Bucky would kill for Steve. He wasn't sure he'd even break a sweat.

The bed shifted and he opened his eyes to find Clint sitting up and staring at him wide-eyed. "What was that?"

There was no way he could answer. He groped for something to distract him and settled on, "Clint? Is every becoming-a-werewolf story traumatic?"

Clint slowly lay back down and folded his hands behind his head. "Has someone been telling tales?"

"Yeah, and Steve... It wasn't good."

"It's not exactly sunshine and roses most of the time. Most people who want to be werewolves shouldn't be and most of the ones who'd be good wolves don't want to be. So you get asshole self-styled alphas turning people against their will or making more like them, or it's a last-ditch effort to save someone's life." He tapped his fingers on the bed. "Want to hear my story? Add it to your collection?"

"If you want to tell me."

"Sure. Mine's more embarrassing than traumatic, though. It's how I got Lucky."

"I thought you rescued him from Russian mobsters?"

" _Technically_ that's true."

Bucky curled on his side, folded his right arm under his ear, and watched Clint in the dim light. "I feel like _technically that’s true_ means the same thing as _technically that's a lie_. _”_

"Not just a pretty face, are you?" Clint grinned at him. "The apartment building I live in, it used to be owned by, yes, you guessed it, Russian mob guys. Me and Nat own it now, but back then they had these dogs, most of them were tough dogs, you know, big, scary. Mean. But they also had Lucky—he wasn't called that, he was called something Russian. I don't know what. Nat knows, she speaks Russian—and they hit him, beat him, trying to make him tough. It's how he lost his eye."

He was used to seeing Clint laughing, light. He was a werewolf, sure, but he'd always seemed more jester than predator. Not now. His eyes were deep and dangerous, flashing gold, and his lips curled back off his teeth.

"One night, must have been after midnight, they had him up on the roof. I could hear him crying. They were joking about throwing him off 'cause he was useless. I don't speak Russian but some things come across damn well. So I tried to stop them." After a brief pause he said quietly, "Joke was on me 'cause they tossed me off instead."

Bucky shoved himself up on one arm and stared at him. "Jesus Christ, Clint."

"Yeah. Right down into the alley. Four stories, hurt like hell but not for long. Turns out that's not a good sign, when it starts not-hurting like that. There was a lot of blood. Then Nat was there." His voice went soft, his eyes softer. "I'd seen her around some, stayed away from her, since she's scarier than Russian mob guys. But there she was and I figured maybe she'd save the dog. I don't remember what I said, but I told her she had to go help him, that he was gonna die."

Clint laughed and shook his head. "There's me bleeding out in an alley, telling Nat to go save a dog. She asks me do I want her to save me first? And I figure, what the hell, right? By then I thought I was hallucinating, so when she strips off and turns into a wolf I wasn't all that surprised. Then she bites me, hard, on the thigh, bites down deep and holds on and the world goes red and I pass out. When I wake up I'm bundled in about four blankets with Lucky licking my face and Nat feeding me soup and I can hear everything and yeah. I'm a werewolf."

Bucky slowly lay back down. Not sure what to say. "That's kind of traumatic."

"More for Nat than me. I don't think she'd ever made a werewolf before. Don't think she ever wanted to. I just think she's got a soft spot for dogs and idiots who love them. But now there's no more mobsters and I've got a dog and a pack and half an apartment building. Funny how life works out."

"Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you didn't die." He reached out and squeezed Clint's shoulder. "And if anyone asks you definitely saved Lucky from Russian mobsters."

Clint smiled. "Try and sleep. Do you want to cuddle? No funny business, but you still smell pretty stressed."

"I'll be alright." But he felt himself smile back. "Thanks, though."

"Sleep, Bucky. We'll bring him home."


	8. Chapter 8

The date was lousy. Steve didn't know why Jack had bothered asking him out. Steve knew why he'd said yes—Jack was gorgeous, built like a swimmer with a face like a Greek god and, sue him, he was allowed to be shallow. But as the date progressed it had become increasingly apparent Jack had no interest in _him_. He seemed bored, was easily distracted, like he was desperate to pay attention to anything, to _anyone_ , that wasn't Steve.

Steve was on the verge of saying, 'Hey, let's just forget the whole thing'. At least it hadn't been a complete waste of time; the food here was damn good. He was planning to come back. _Without_ Jack.

Suddenly Jack shifted closer, a little too close, a little too hot— _actually_ hot, fever hot, furnace hot—and grinned, teeth gleaming sharp and white. It was the first time all night Steve felt like Jack was actually seeing him. "Let's get out of here, go for a walk in the park."

"In the dark?"

"It's a full moon, there's plenty of light."

Bucky trailed his fingers along Steve's narrow shoulders, leaned down and placed a gentle kiss in his hair. "You don't have to do this."

"If you can figure out a way to stop it, let me know."

Bucky's smile was sad and then Steve was running, fleeing, heart pumping, lungs aching, gasping for breath, stumbling and falling, terrified because there was a beast after him, huge and black with teeth like the end of the world and there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. It was toying with him like a cat, it was going to catch him, he knew, he _knew,_ and he burst into a clearing, put his back against a tree and scooped up a branch.

If he was gonna die he'd be damned if he'd go down running. He'd go down fighting. Maybe he could take an eye out, at least leave a mark, at least make it _pay_.

The moon was huge and bright overhead, kind and compassionate, watching over him, so at least he wouldn't die alone, but Bucky gently lifted the branch out of his hands and they were sitting together on the floor of the huge house at the edge of town. Steve hunched over himself, legs too big, hands too big, everything too big, too strong, under the watchful unhappy eyes of his, his _pack_.

They were his pack, because he was a werewolf.

They'd thought he'd die, that he wouldn't shift, that he wouldn't survive his first shift. Instead, he'd turned into this. He thought some of them wished he'd died. The alpha was one of them. The alpha, a huge brutal werewolf with a face like a mountain and fur the colour of rust, who stared at him like Steve was a snake, a viper, because he was supposed to be _small_ and _weak_ and instead he was a giant. 

The house was steeped in blood and fear and pain and violence and there was nowhere he could go to escape it, because he wasn't allowed to leave. Steve moved from room to room, floor to floor, Bucky at his side where Bucky shouldn't be because this place was death, would be death for any human, but especially for one Steve loved, until he finally collapsed, exhausted, and pulled Bucky down on top of him, holding him as close as he could.

"Wake up."

Bucky was shaking him.

"Steve, wake up."

Snarls and snaps and whines filled the air, a counterpoint to Bucky's voice, undercutting the acrid tang of fear and blood, and panic flared as he surfaced but it was familiar now, an old friend, because Bucky _wasn't_ here. Bucky was safe.

Except Bucky's scent was thick in the air, cutting through the fog, speaking of love and home and— _No!_

He opened his eyes and Bucky was crouched next to the cage, arms shoved through the bars, hands buried in Steve's fur. _Bucky. Not safe, not safe, I can't protect you, they'll kill you, it's not safe, how can you be here you were supposed to be_ safe.

Bucky stood and there was a clank and a thump and the cage was open. A crash shook the floor above their heads, dirt raining down on them. Bucky was murmuring words he couldn’t force meaning from, and Steve was...

... _running through the park, a beast behind him and he was going to die and he couldn't protect Bucky._

... _shaking with fever in a house full of monsters and he was waiting to die and he couldn’t protect Bucky. He couldn't keep him safe._

_...helpless and weak and there were monsters above them and monsters around them, blood and fear and pain, and they'd kill Bucky in a heartbeat and he couldn't save him._

What if it was the only way to save you?

_What if it was the only way to save you?_

_I’m sorry._ Steve dragged himself shakily to his feet, reared up and fell onto Bucky, shoving him down, using his weight to hold him. Bucky didn't fight him, didn't try and get away. Not even when he nuzzled against Bucky's right shoulder, opened his mouth, and _bit._

 

***     *     ***

 

"Your focus is Steve. Leave the wolves to us," Natasha had told him before she'd shifted, sleek and silver and slender grace, her eyes bright gold. They were orders it was easy to follow.

There were no sentries on watch as they approached the cabin from downwind, Bucky the lone human in a vee of wolves, but Clint had nodded: he was picking up Steve's scent.

They'd hit it hard, Natasha smashing through one window, Sam through another, Clint going through the front door with Bucky. The werewolves in the cabin were taken completely off-guard, but they'd quickly rallied, shifting to meet their attackers.

There were five of them against Natasha, Sam, and Clint: three almost indistinguishable, grey and white and a little smaller than Clint; a huge, craggy, thick-headed red wolf, nearly Steve's size; and one who was small and slight, almost the same gold as Steve, hanging back, reluctant, ears flat, tail low, but even as Bucky watched the big red wolf turned, sank teeth into the gold's side, and threw him into the fight.

The difference in numbers didn't matter. Fighting werewolves moved almost too fast for Bucky to follow, but Natasha's wolves were trained, disciplined, a single cohesive unit and they held their own against the others with ease. The only one close to a match for them was Big Red, and Natasha soon focused solely on him, leaving the others to Sam and Clint.

Bucky tried not to turn his back on the fighting, ready to dodge out of the way as he searched the cabin. It was small, the upstairs barely more than an attic, the few bedrooms not hiding a giant golden wolf or a giant golden man. He was just getting ready to go out the back door, to check for outbuildings, when the small golden wolf wrenched itself out of the fight and shifted into a guy with short curly hair. He was panting hard, blood running down his side, but he pounced on a pile of clothes.

"Hey!" he yelled at Bucky. "He's down there." He pointed at the floor. "Door's in the pantry floor. Catch." A bright spot of silver arced through the air and Bucky caught the key even as Big Red roared in fury and launched himself at the curly-haired guy. Sam smashed into Big Red, sent him ears over tail, and when Big Red turned to savage Sam, Natasha leapt on him again, her speed and skill more than a match for his strength and size.

Bucky clenched his fingers around the key and bolted for the kitchen. The door was right where he'd said, in the floor of the pantry, and he pulled it up and made his way down the steps. There was a light bulb hanging from the ceiling and he pulled the chain, looking around at what he guessed was a root cellar, wooden shelves filled with dusty jars lining one wall.

 _Steve._ He was in a cage in the middle of the floor, asleep or passed out, panting, fur lank, and Bucky hit his knees in front of him, reached his hands through to touch him, hold him. He didn't move, didn't stir. "Wake up." He shook him gently. "Steve, wake up."

He buried his hands in Steve's fur and Steve's eyes opened but they were hazy, unfocused. Bucky wasn't sure Steve was even seeing him. He pressed his forehead against the bars. The bars _._ God, he was so fucking stupid. _He had a key._ He let go of Steve with a pang and found the lock, a complicated thing on top of the cage. When he unlocked it the gate thumped to the floor and he dropped to his knees in front of Steve, wincing as a crash from upstairs shook dirt and dust down on them.

"It's gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay, I promise. Think you can stand up, so we can get you out of the cage? It's okay if you can't, everything's okay. It's fine." He still wasn't sure Steve knew he was here, he didn't know what they'd done to him, and he wasn't sure what else he could do except keep talking, keep touching him. He felt a surge of relief when Steve hauled himself up, shaky but standing, and he started to smile.

Steve's weight crashing into him drove the nascent smile off his face and the air out of his lungs, but Steve was nuzzling him and that had to be a good sign. Had to mean Steve knew he wasn't alone. Had to mean...

His whole body went rigid as Steve bit him.

The floor boards were rough under his back. Steve was an impossible weight on his chest. Steve's teeth were in his shoulder, light, just piercing the skin, but he could feel the pressure building.

He didn't know why, but he knew _what_. He knew what this was, what Steve was doing. Steve would never hurt him, so there was nothing else it could be. His mind blanked, white noise and lightning, as time slowed and his heart beat out passing years. Fear tried to rise but he ruthlessly strangled it.

Whatever Steve remembered of this moment it would not be Bucky fighting. It would not be Bucky's fear. He wouldn't let Steve carry that.

"Okay." He curled his fingers into Steve's fur and closed his eyes as Steve's teeth sank a little deeper. "It's okay." Peace settled over him. Acceptance. _So be it._ He braced himself for the pain and let go. "I love you."

 

***     *     ***

 

Bucky's blood was bitter on his tongue. Bitter and wrong, and it cut through the drug fog in his mind, jolted him awake. Aware.

Bucky wasn't afraid.

Bucky's heart was beating slow and even.

Something was wrong.

His teeth were in Bucky's shoulder, the smell of Bucky's blood was in his nose, the taste of it in his mouth, but Bucky was quiet and calm beneath him, his hands in Steve's fur.

_What if it's the only way to save you?_

But Bucky wasn't afraid.

_But he was in danger, Steve couldn't protect him. It was the only way to keep him safe._

What if you're wrong?

_You can't do this._

He wasn't sure he could stop.

With a pained whine he dug down deep, found a last reserve of strength, and shifted, collapsing on top of Bucky. His mind was instantly clearer, but when he tried to speak the words wouldn't come, just a small, broken noise. He tried to push himself off Bucky, away from Bucky, but it didn't work. Not just because his arms were shaky, but because Bucky wrapped his arms around him and wouldn't let go.

"Shhh, it's okay. You're safe. I've got you." Bucky held him tighter, his voice as shaky as Steve's arms. "You're gonna be okay." 

"Not safe," he managed to get out. "Bucky."

There was a moment's silence, then Bucky said, "I'm safe. I'm not alone. Hear that fighting? That's Natasha, Sam and Clint kicking the asses of the werewolves who took you."

He could smell them now, mingling with the scent of Bucky, strong and familiar, and guilt clawed at his heart. Bucky had always been safe. The truth had been right there in front of him, unexpected but vital, and he'd _missed it_. He'd bitten Bucky, he'd hurt him, he'd almost _changed him_. Horror poured through him and he shuddered; swallowed hard, trying to clear the taste of Bucky's blood from his mouth. Nausea churned in his gut.

Bucky's arms tightened and he felt him wince, he could smell his pain, smell his blood; blood and pain, so familiar, too familiar, only this time he'd caused them. A curl of fear joined them. Steve dragged his head up, _knowing_ he'd find that fear reflected on Bucky's face, fear to match the blood staining Bucky's shirt, fear to match the pain staining the air.

Except the only emotion on Bucky's face was a desperate joy. Bucky lifted his metal hand, touched Steve's face, fingers strong on his chin. "Steve." His voice was soft, breathless, shaky, filled with relief and love. "I thought I'd lost you. I was afraid I was never gonna see you again. I couldn't—"

His voice cracked and Steve shoved his horror, his guilt, away to bundle Bucky up in his arms. Bucky needed him and Bucky's need was more important than anything. "I'm here, you found me." He pressed his nose into Bucky's hair. "I'm here." The scent of fear began to fade. "I love you."

"I love you. Steve. God." Bucky gave a watery laugh and squeezed Steve so hard his ribs creaked. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

They stared at each other, the world fading, taking everything with it, until a howl of pain, a snarl of anger, the crash and shatter of something never intended to be thrown to the floor, dragged them both back. Steve's eyes fell to Bucky's shoulder. "Bucky. I'm sorry. I—" It was, there were no words, he had no words that could cover what he'd almost done, but Bucky shook his head and his voice was gentle.

"Later. Later, Steve. Okay?"

He bowed his head, fingers curled in Bucky's shirt. Another crash shook the floor above them and Steve pushed up, still weak, still shaky, and made it to his feet. "Help me up there."

"Steve," Bucky stood, moving closer, ready to catch Steve if he fell, "you can barely stand. You should—"

They were fighting for him, fighting Cole. They didn't know what they were dealing with. "Bucky. I need to be up there. Please."

Bucky wrapped his fingers around the back of Steve's neck and pressed his forehead hard against Steve's. "If that's what you need."  

 

***     *     ***

 

It wasn't easy, getting Steve up the steps. The punctures in his shoulder hurt, pulled with every step, blood was still oozing down his back, his chest, but Bucky refused to think about that right now.

Steve needed to get upstairs, he'd get him up the steps. Bucky took his weight, Steve leaning heavily on him, and they managed.

The place was trashed and there was no sign of the grey wolves. The curly-haired guy who'd given Bucky the key was still human shaped, crouched behind Clint, who was blocking him into a corner. But Clint was facing _out_ , teeth bared, attention focused on the fight raging between Natasha and Big Red.

Sam was standing watchfully to one side, alert, tense, but not interfering as Natasha danced in circles around Big Red. As they watched she flipped him over and pinned him, teeth in his throat, his legs kicking, trying to heave her off, but she nimbly evaded.

It was like she was waiting, for what Bucky didn't know, but Steve murmured, "He won't give in, he'll never give in," and Natasha's ears flicked in acknowledgement even as Big Red heaved and she leapt off him, light as a dancer, dodging his lunge and opening up another tear on his shoulder.

"Who is he?"

"Cole. The alpha of my first pack." Steve's knees wobbled and he sat down hard. "They drove him away. He killed a bunch of them, but they drove him off. He blames me for it. He wanted to make me submit, to help him take over again. Stupid. So stupid. It was never me, they drove him off 'cause he's a monster."

Big Red—Cole—leapt towards Steve with a roar, evading Natasha. Bucky shoved himself in front of Steve, raised his metal arm, and snarled back. Cole faltered, shocked, Natasha sank her teeth into his rear leg, shaking her head, and dragged him back.

After that it was a blur, punctuated by white teeth and arcs of blood, by Cole's snarls and roars, by Natasha's eerie silence. She slammed into Cole while she snaked her head under his belly to latch onto his front leg, sending him spinning to smash into the solid wooden wall. As Cole hauled himself up, staggering and dizzy from the impact, Natasha met Bucky's eyes.

They were wolf's eyes, brilliant gold, her silver muzzle was stained with blood; there was nothing close to human about her, but he knew what she was asking, as clearly as if she'd whispered it in his ear.

Bucky glanced down at Steve, half-dazed and leaning on his legs. Cole was a killer, a murderer; he had that from Steve's own words. His shoulder was throbbing from Steve's teeth—but whatever had driven Steve to bite him was Cole's fault, Cole and whatever he'd done to Steve. He'd taken Steve, he'd hurt Steve. _He'll never give in._ The cold rose up, crackled through his words. "Do it."

It was too fast to follow, quiet and quick and a flash of teeth, and Cole's life was bubbling out onto the carpet. Werewolves could heal from almost anything, but they needed a throat to breathe.

He dropped his hand to Steve's shoulder, squeezed hard. Asking without words if he was okay.

Steve slumped against his legs. "He was a torturing, murdering, kidnapping son of a bitch. The world's a better place without him in it."

 

* * *

 

Bucky had expected the dead werewolf to change, to revert to human shape. He wasn't sure why; werewolves were werewolves, separate and distinct, not humans who turned into wolves, but he was surprised when he stayed a wolf.

It made things simpler.

The curly haired werewolf turned out to be Dr Cameron Klein—and he'd never wanted to be a werewolf. He assured them the drugs—a cocktail of sedatives, hallucinogens, muscle relaxants, other things that would lower Steve's resistance—would be out of Steve's system in a few hours and there'd be no long-term effects. Not for a werewolf. Bucky wanted to smash his face in with his metal fist, but just wrapped the blanket tighter around Steve's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Cameron said when they were all human shaped, dressed in clothes scrounged from the bedrooms. Bucky had Steve sitting on the one intact chair, wrapped in blankets since the only clothes big enough to fit him were Cole's and that wasn't happening. "I didn't know. He told us," he didn't meet anyone's eyes, but his gaze was somewhere in the vicinity of Steve's feet, "you were dangerous. That you were a danger to his pack, that they were still his pack."

"You're a werewolf. I thought you could tell when someone was lying," Bucky ground out.

Cameron winced. "Not when they think what they're saying is true. Cole believed every word. But when the plan to catch you," he looked at Steve's knees, "was to set it up so you thought you were rescuing me? I knew something was wrong. I'm sorry I went through with it. If I hadn't agreed, he would have killed me. And if I was dead, he would have dosed you himself," he briefly met Steve's eyes, "and that could have killed you. Or done permanent damage. I adjusted the drugs as much as I could without him noticing. It was all I could do."

"You could have not helped catch Steve in the first place," Natasha said, biting, sharp, filled with contempt. Cameron flinched.

"Natasha," Steve said wearily. "Leave it. Please. He was scared. Cole did that to people. He brutalised them. He terrified them. I saw it first-hand. I understand," he said to Cameron. "You did the best you could and you came through in the end."

Bucky pressed closer to Steve, overwhelmed by a rush of love so strong he almost couldn't breathe because, angry as he was at this, this, he didn't have a word to fit, it was so perfectly Steve. He curled his fingers into Steve's short hair and Steve rested his cheek on Bucky's chest, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"I'll deal with it, with him." Cameron nodded at the dead wolf, then gestured at the wrecked cabin. "I'll deal with all of it."

"You think the other three will come back?" Sam asked.

"No. They were," Cameron paused, "mercenary. Cowards," his smile was self-deprecating, "they wanted what they could get from Cole as long as it didn't cost them anything beyond a bared throat. They'll be long gone."

Clint exchanged looks with Natasha, with Sam, studied the ceiling briefly, then scratched the back of his neck. "I might stick around for a bit, just to be on the safe side. Keep an eye on things."

 

* * *

 

When they left the cabin they left Clint behind. It wasn't quite that simple. There was a lot of discussion, back and forth between Natasha, Sam and Clint, between Cameron and Natasha. Bucky didn't bother with any of it, just stayed wrapped around Steve while they worked out whatever they needed to work out until Clint shifted and went to get the car.

Before they left, Steve tucked into a nest in the back seat of the car, Bucky found himself getting the life carefully hugged out of him by Clint. "It won't change you," he said quietly in Bucky's ear. Bucky tensed. "If you were wondering. It’s not deep enough, not...right."

"I didn't think so. But thanks. And thank you, for everything."

"Take care of yourself. Take care of him. Take care of each other."

"We will."

Clint gave him one last squeeze and stepped back. He stood on the lawn, watching Bucky settle into the back seat of the car next to Steve, who was bundled up in just about every blanket the cabin had held, more for Bucky's peace of mind than from any particular need. He knew Steve had heard, Clint's quietness no match for werewolf hearing, when he touched the bite on Bucky's shoulder, eyes deep and sad.

"No," Bucky said as he caught Steve's fingers, kissed the tip of each one. "No, it's not later yet." Natasha started the car, started talking to Sam, giving them the illusion of privacy. Even so, this was something between them. Something just between them. "We'll talk, but not now. For now trust me. I love you. Rest. That shit's not all the way out of your system yet. Okay?"

For a minute he thought Steve was going to argue, then he heaved a deep sigh and burrowed into Bucky, nose tucked against the column of Bucky's throat, breathing deep. His eyes fluttered shut. "Okay."

He met Natasha's eyes in the rear view mirror. They were warm, approving. He nodded, then let his own slip shut. Steve was here, Steve was safe. Nothing else mattered.

 

* * *

 

They stopped at the hotel and Bucky led Steve into the shower to wash every inch of him, slow and thorough, until there could be no trace left of his time in the cage. Steve cupped Bucky's face in both hands, touch careful and delicate, and kissed him. Gentle kisses, soft kisses. Affirming kisses. I love you and we're together and I love you, and they held each other under the fall of warm water until Bucky's fingers started to wrinkle.

When Steve stepped back his gaze fell to the bite on Bucky's shoulder, red punctures clearly visible against Bucky's pale skin, and his lips thinned. "No," Bucky said again, gently.

Steve sighed. "You can't keep saying _no_."

"Bets?"

It pulled a tiny smile out of Steve. "At least let me clean it." His hands were careful as he washed it, and Bucky didn't wince even though it stung like hell.

"At least you didn't try for the left. You could have broken your teeth."

"It's not funny."

"A werewolf with dentures would be pretty funny." Bucky poked him in the ticklish spot under his ribs.

"Stop that."

"Nope."

Bucky did it again and Steve caught his hand, pressing it against his side, stepped closer and wrapped Bucky in his arms. "I love you. So much. Bucky..."

"I love you, too." He smoothed his hand down Steve's spine. "Let's get you home."

Sam insisted they eat and as they decimated the room service menu Steve, sitting on the floor at Bucky's feet, tucked between Bucky's legs, one arm wrapped around Bucky's calf, haltingly told them exactly what had happened, everything that Cole had said and done. Bucky and Natasha exchanged a look and in it was confirmation of a choice well made. And understanding that they would do it again.

The sun was setting when they checked out and started the drive back to the house in the forest, Natasha riding shotgun, Sam driving. It wasn't long before Sam and Bucky were the only ones awake.

The miles wound away, the traffic thinned, and the sky darkened. Bucky studied Sam's profile as Steve's breath gusted against his neck. Sam was a werewolf; Bucky was sure he knew he was being watched, but as the minutes ticked past he didn't give any indication it bothered him. "Sam?" he finally said.

"Yeah, Bucky?"

"Thank you. For coming. For being here. For," he ran a hand through Steve's hair and Steve sighed in his sleep, "everything."

"I was happy to do it."

"And I'm sorry," Steve was curled against him, peaceful, alive, and he didn't know how to put what he was feeling into words, but he knew he had to try, "I'm sorry for what happened to you. For what happened to Riley. I wish," he glanced out the window, at the stars twinkling into life in the darkening sky, "I wish it could have been different."

"So do I," Sam said, voice soft, quiet. "But it was good to be part of this, part of bringing him home. And you know," he smiled suddenly, and even in the darkness Bucky could see it was brimming over with warmth, "Riley would have been damn glad to see a happy ending."


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky woke to the sound of an angry buck deer snorting a challenge to a house full of werewolves. "That is the stupidest deer in the world," he muttered.

Steve stirred in his arms, warm and real and here in their bed where he belonged. "Or the bravest."

"Stupidest," Bucky insisted, and kissed the back of his neck. "I love you." He could faintly hear the sounds of movement in the living room, but he didn't care. He wasn't moving. He wasn't letting go of Steve, not for anything.

"I love you, too." Steve wriggled around until he was facing Bucky. "You were all I could think about."

"Same here." He traced the lines of Steve's face, dragged his thumb across his bottom lip. "I didn't know what to do without you."

"No."

Bucky blinked at him. "No?"

Steve was smiling faintly, eyes almost glowing with love. "You knew what to do. You found me. You brought me home."

He opened his mouth, but there weren't any words, and then he didn't need any because Steve was kissing him, soft, delicate, and he lost himself in it, couldn't stop himself from tracing the line of his shoulders, his back, refamiliarising himself with every muscle, the way they moved under his fingers, the way Steve pressed into his touch. Every movement pulled on the bite—safely covered by a plain white bandage—repeated tiny pangs, but he didn't care. He barely noticed. It was nothing compared to the feel of Steve.

Steve gently pressed him back into the mattress as Bucky's hand slid lower, his elbows braced on either side of Bucky's head. "You know they can hear everything?"

"I don't care. Right now, I don't care." He cupped Steve's face in his metal hand, thumb rubbing over his cheek. "Do you?"

"No." Steve turned his head to kiss his palm. "Right now, no."

Bucky surged up, to catch his mouth, but he hissed as the sudden movement _dragged_ on the bite, a sharp, shooting pain he couldn't ignore, making Steve draw back, draw away, face filled with concern, with apology, with guilt. "No." He snaked his metal hand around the nape of Steve's neck and pulled him down. "No you don't. It's not later yet. Get back here, I want to make you forget you were ever gone."

After a second Steve's eyes went soft. He pressed delicate kisses around the bandage, up Bucky's neck, then slid his arms around Bucky and carefully rolled them so Bucky was on top. "I'm half way there already."

 

* * *

 

Neither Sam nor Natasha said anything when he and Steve finally made it out of the bedroom, and then out of the shower, but Bucky did collect a knowing look from Natasha. He just rolled his eyes and went to make coffee.

He was surprised to find milk in the fridge, but Natasha had said they'd stopped for groceries.

They must have bought milk.

He'd been fine up to that point. Completely fine. The milk almost undid him. He leaned against the fridge, taking deep breaths, as everything that had happened crashed down on him. He'd almost lost Steve because Steve had gone to get the mail and buy fucking milk and the asshole alpha from his first pack wanted him back. How had he even found him? If he hadn't had Natasha to call on, if she hadn't been willing to help... _fuck._

He'd given the kill order for that alpha. For _Cole._ He'd had a name. He'd been a person. A vicious torturing, murdering asshole of a person, but still a person.

And he didn't care.

He believed Steve, he'd always believe Steve, and Steve said Cole had been a killer. That wasn't why he'd done it. He'd done it because it was the only way to make sure Steve was safe.

"Bucky?" It was Natasha, watching from the kitchen doorway.

"I told you to kill someone."

"You did."

"I'm sorry."

She lifted one shoulder. "There's no police we can call, no jail we can put werewolves into. It's not something I relish, but sometimes they have to die."

"But you shouldn't have had to do it. I—" Natasha raised an eyebrow. "No, okay, that wouldn't have worked. But—"

"I trusted you to make the decision. It was your pack in danger, so I trusted you to make the decision for your pack." Bucky twitched, startled, but she was going on, he didn't have time to respond. "We're equally responsible. Can you live with that?"

"Yeah. For Steve, I can."

She walked over and tapped his chest, right over his heart. "It's amazing what we can do for people we love."

"Where is Steve?" Bucky was surprised he hadn't come barrelling in as soon as he'd had his little meltdown over the milk.

"I asked him to take Sam out, see if they could find that ridiculous deer. I figured you might want to have this conversation in private."

"Thank you. That's, I don't even know how many I owe you."

She smiled, all teeth. "I know."

"Now I'm afraid."

"Wait until I start calling them in." He laughed quietly and finished making his coffee, raising the cup at her in silent question and she nodded. When he'd made her coffee and handed it to her, she asked, "Do you need us to stay?"

"No," he said after a minute. "I don't think Steve needs—"

"No. I know what Steve needs. He needs you. Do _you_ need us to stay?"

Bucky blinked at her. "Oh."

"Oh," she repeated, mocking him. "We're here for you as well, Bucky. Not just Steve." There was a gentle fleeting touch against his cheek. "Remember that."

He wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't say anything. Instead he answered her first question. "Right now I think we just need us. But," his eyes flicked over her face, "can I call you? If I need advice?"

"You can."

"Then I think I'll be alright."

 

* * *

 

The plane was waiting when Bucky pulled into the airfield. He hadn't paid much attention to it before, beyond that it was a plane, but now, with Steve beside him, he had attention to spare: it was a sleek, streamlined jet; small, but it reminded him of a shark, and he caught himself wondering how Natasha could get her hands on a plane like this at no notice.

He glanced at her and found her watching him, the corner of her mouth curled up, like she knew what he was thinking, and after a second he smiled. She'd come when he needed her, when Steve needed her. He didn't need to know anything else.

Steve let go of his hand and Bucky grabbed the bags out of the trunk. "I'll put these in the plane." It would give Steve one last chance to talk to Sam and Natasha in private.

The pilot, the same short, stocky woman from before, took them off his hands. "Glad it came out okay."

"Me too," he said, heartfelt, grateful. "Thanks for your help. Seriously."

She studied him in a way he was getting used to, head slightly tilted, chin slightly lifted, then nodded, smiling faintly. "You're welcome."

Bucky shifted from foot to foot and didn't leave. At the pilot's curious look he said, "I'm just giving them a minute."

"Ah."

When he decided enough time had passed, he trotted down the metal steps to find Steve and Natasha and Sam holding onto each other, as if personal space had never been invented and breathing the same air came with life-long health benefits.

 _Werewolves_. But he smiled and slowly made his way over to stand near Steve. He wasn't expecting Steve to reach out and reel him in, to make him part of it, and he stiffened, then Steve stroked his neck, Sam gave him a little squeeze, Natasha ran her fingers through his hair and he relaxed. They were warmth and strength, safety and comfort, and for one flashing second he thought he truly understood what Steve meant by _pack_.

Eventually Steve stepped back, bringing Bucky with him. "Thank you. You know if you ever need me, for anything, I'll be there."

"Even if I want you for our pack?" Natasha asked, mischief in her eyes.

Bucky snorted, leaning on Steve's shoulder, and Sam sighed.

"Nat, I—" Steve's words stumbled to a halt as his eyes darted between the three of them.

"Relax, Steve, she's kidding," Bucky said.

"I am." She stepped forward and kissed Steve on the cheek. "Bucky's your pack and he always will be." She turned to Sam. "Ready to go home?"

"I miss my bed. I miss my place. I miss my city."

"You know there's going to be a million fires to put out once the pack knows we're back."

"On second thought maybe we should stay here. My place isn't that great."

She laughed at him, he grinned back, then they said their goodbyes and made their way onto the plane.

Steve and Bucky watched until the plane disappeared into the sky, then Bucky squeezed Steve's hand. "Let's go home."

They made one stop on the way.

Dum Dum was behind the bar at the Howling Commandos and he accepted his keys back and handed Bucky's over with a considering look, but didn't ask any questions beyond, "Everything okay?"

Bucky took Steve's hand, threading their fingers together, and nodded. "Yeah."

"Glad to hear it."

When they got home they walked slowly up the stairs. Steve pushed the front door shut, then turned to Bucky and held out his arms. Bucky stepped into them and wound his arms around Steve's waist as Steve pulled him close. Steve was warm and solid against him, warm and solid and real, his breath was gusting through Bucky's hair, against his ear. His hands were firm against Bucky's back and Bucky pressed closer, fisted his hands in the back of Steve's shirt as Steve held him tighter.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to. It was the two of them together in the house in the forest and, right here, right now, nothing else mattered.

 

* * *

 

With Sam and Natasha gone it was easy to fall back into their old patterns. With a few differences.

The first time Steve got up, got ready to go out and get the mail, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's waist and held on, heart beating a little too fast.

"So what do we do?" Steve asked, running his fingers through Bucky's hair. "I don't want to go, either." Bucky opened his eyes, staring up at Steve. Steve didn't think he'd ever been more beautiful, lightly furrowed brow contrasting with the sleep-touched softness of his eyes, his mouth.

"You come back to bed for another... What time is it?"

"Seven."

Bucky winced. "Another hour at least. Then we go together. And I'm bringing my rifle." The sleepiness was fading out of his eyes, replaced by something hard, implacable, something he was more used to seeing on Natasha.

"Even though you'll be with me?"

"Maybe in a few weeks, maybe in a month, I won't, but right now? I need to be able to protect you."

"Even though we're safe? Even though Cole's dead?"

"Even though." Bucky sat up, the covers pooling in his lap, and Steve didn't look away from the bite on his shoulder. They were leaving the bandage off, it was supposed to be better for healing, and the perfect imprint of his teeth was picked out in red brown scabs.

He reached out and touched Bucky's chest, just under the bite. "Everything you've been dragged into. You shouldn't have had to be involved in any of it. Sometimes I wonder..." He trailed off, knowing he wasn't brave enough, was too selfish, to ever give Bucky the choice Bucky had given him that day in the hotel. His life would be nothing without Bucky in it.

"Hey." Bucky's voice was sharp. "Stop it. I love you, all of you, every last bit of you. Nothing that happened was your fault and I made my own choices. If one of us should be upset it should be you."

"How do you figure that?"

"I made the call to kill Cole."

"You shouldn’t have had to."

"Was it the right thing to do?"

"It was the only thing to do. Nothing else would have stopped him."

"There you go. And I'd do it again." Bucky faltered slightly and touched Steve's hand. "Not in a serial killer way. I'd prefer not to."

Steve slipped his arms around him and kissed his temple. There was something underneath Bucky's words, something he wasn't saying, written in his scent, in the pattern of his heartbeat, but Steve wasn't going to ask. "I know, Bucky. I know."

"And I'm with you through everything." Suddenly he grinned. "Even the freaky werewolf shit."

Steve hung his head, shook it, laughing quietly. "God, I love you."

"Then come back to bed and prove it." Steve tilted his head, eyebrows raised, and Bucky snorted. "By letting me sleep. You can spoon me like the cuddly werewolf you are."

It took Steve less than a minute to kick off his shoes and strip back down to nothing, and then he was curled around Bucky, who snuggled into the curve of his body. Already he was starting to drift, his body relaxing, slowing.

"So from now on," Bucky murmured. "We just stay together, don't go anywhere alone. For however long it takes until we stop needing to. Okay?"

"Sounds good, Bucky." Steve buried his nose in Bucky's hair, breathing in the smell of home. "Sounds perfect."

 

* * *

 

Steve's nightmare wasn't precisely a surprise to Bucky. He'd been kidnapped, tortured, drugged. They'd gotten him back in a few days—but they'd been the longest days of Bucky's life; he couldn't begin to imagine how long they'd been for Steve.

No one, not even a werewolf, just shakes that off.

No, the surprise came when Steve, shivering and whining, the noises pure wolf, threw himself away from Bucky's touch so hard he crashed into the door. It left them both shocked, Bucky staring into the darkness, not moving, not sure what to do.

Seconds later Steve was back on the bed with him, wrapped around him, head on Bucky's thigh, whispering, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," over and over again.

He threaded his fingers into Steve's hair, pressed down on his spine with his metal hand. "Shhhh, Steve. It's okay, you're okay." He dragged the blanket up around him. "You're fine. We're fine. You're safe."

"No, it's—" He heard Steve swallow. "It was, I was biting you and this time I didn't stop."

Of course. _Of course._ No wonder he'd hurled himself away. "Steve." He curled himself over Steve and kissed the top of his shoulder. "It was a nightmare. That didn't happen. You stopped." He ran his right hand through his hair, weighed his words, and said, "And even if you hadn't that would have been okay." Steve sat up so fast he nearly smacked Bucky in the chin. "I'm gonna turn on the light, okay? I can't see a damn thing and I think we just hit _later_."

"Okay." Steve sounded hesitant, unsure, and Bucky reached out, touched his face, and pressed a soft kiss against his mouth before he flicked on the bedside lamp. Steve was a mess, hair sticking up like every strand thought it was the smartest kid in the class and they all wanted to answer a question. It made Bucky smile. "What?"

"Your hair's ridiculous."

Steve frowned at him and Bucky felt his smile grow. He resettled himself against the headboard and then flipped the blankets back. "Come here," he said, motioning to the spot in front of him. Steve didn't move. "Steve."

With a sigh, Steve settled between his legs, leaning against his chest, and Bucky pulled the covers over them, sliding his arms around Steve's waist, holding him until he felt the tension ease out of his body, until Steve relaxed against him.

Bucky didn't ask, didn't push, just held Steve and waited. Eventually Steve started talking. "Biting you, changing you...I thought it was the only way to keep you safe. While I was in the cage I had these dreams, memories, maybe they were hallucinations. I don't know. Of things that happened in the past. When I was first changed. None of them good. And you were in them with me."

He rested his chin on Steve's shoulder and Steve turned his head, brushing his nose against Bucky's cheek.

"I was panicking, terrified, because you couldn't be there. I couldn’t keep you safe. I couldn't protect you. And I know, I know you don't need me to protect you, except if you'd actually been there—" Steve shuddered and Bucky held him more tightly. "Bucky, you would have been killed. You would have died. I couldn't have stopped them." Steve's hands clenched. Bucky folded his right hand over Steve's and Steve curled his fingers through Bucky's. "But every time I woke up or came out of it or whatever the hell was happening I stopped panicking, I stopped being afraid, because I _knew_ you were safe. I _knew_ you weren't there."

"How?"

"I couldn't smell you."

 _Oh, Steve._ His heart _ached_. "Except then you could. Because I was there."

"Yeah. And I was messed up with the drugs and the dreams and the fear and you were there, talking to me and touching me and I could feel you and smell you and I knew you weren't safe. But if you were a werewolf you might survive. They might not kill you." Steve went quiet and looked down at their joined hands. "What if it was the only way to save you?"

 _Jesus, Steve._ He remembered when Steve had asked him that question. That _exact_ question. "If that ever happens you've got my permission. You know that."

"I know. But it wasn't happening, was it?" Steve's smile was sad. "I was just fucked up with the drugs and the dreams and I bit you."

"And you stopped as soon as you figured it out. You made yourself shift. And even if you hadn't that would have been okay."

Steve twisted around, looking almost angry. "You don't want to be a werewolf."

"No, not really. But I don't _not_ want to be one badly enough to cost you anything. Was I afraid?"

Steve didn't answer.

"Hey." Bucky tugged on their joined hands. "Was I afraid?"

Steve shook his head.

"Was I fighting? Was I trying to get away?"

"No."

"No. I'm glad you stopped. Really glad. But it happening wasn't your fault. It was that bastard's fault. You thought you were saving me. And if I ended up a werewolf, well, the best person I know is a werewolf. So it can't be all bad."

Steve searched his face, pressed a hand over his heart. "You mean that."

"I do."

"I don't deserve you."

"Who could?" Bucky kissed Steve's forehead as Steve huffed a quiet laugh that sparked warmth in Bucky's heart. "But you come closer than anyone else, so that's probably okay."

 

* * *

 

The bite was healing slowly. That was normal, at least as far as Bucky could tell. There wasn't exactly information out there about how long it took a werewolf bite to heal, but dog bites apparently took a while. It didn't bother him, apart from the itching, but he wanted it to heal faster because he was pretty sure it was what was making Steve so...careful.

Not that Steve hadn't always been careful—strong as he was he had to be—but not like this. Like he was keeping himself on a tight leash, unwilling or unable to let himself go. Bucky had figured it'd wear off. That it'd get better as the bite kept healing.

It didn't.

As the days slipped past Steve became more cautious, his touches gentler, more tentative. Bucky wasn't sure how to snap him out of it.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had his shirt off, leaning against the bathroom sink while Steve dabbed cream on the bite. As Steve put the cap on the tube and began delicately rubbing it in, Bucky rested his forehead on Steve's shoulder. "Think you could do all of me while you're at it?"

"There's not that much cream left."

Bucky bonked Steve's shoulder with his forehead. "Smart ass. I meant the massage."

"I think that could be arranged." When the cream was rubbed in Steve folded his hands around Bucky's hips, his touch gentle, measured, and carefully turned him around. Thumbs on either side of Bucky's spine, he started working his way down from the base of Bucky's skull, kneading careful circles. It felt nice, it felt good, but he was barely making contact, like Bucky was glass and if he pushed too hard...

"I won't break." Steve was silent. Bucky watched him in the mirror. "I'm not fragile."

"I know. It's not..." Steve stroked a hand up his back, fingers settling just below the bite. "It's not that. I hurt you. I don't want to do it again."

"You didn't hurt me."

"Bucky."

"No. This," he gestured at the bite, "was not your fault. You didn't hurt—"

"No. This _hurt._ " Steve spread his fingers wide. "I hurt you. I caused you pain. You don't get to say I didn't just because of how it happened."

He absorbed that in silence, then nodded and pulled his shirt on. "Okay. Come on." He turned and grabbed Steve's hand, pulling him through the house, out the door and down the stairs into the yard. The sun was high overhead, the sky a brilliant blue, and he led Steve onto the shadow-dappled grass. "Wait here."

It took time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the storage area under the house, but he found what he wanted right where he'd thought it would be.

Steve lifted both eyebrows when he saw what Bucky was carrying. "Are you going to hit me with that?"

"Nope." Bucky handed him the crowbar. "Bend it."

"You suddenly have something against crowbars?"

"Humour me. Bend it."

He waited and finally Steve did, smoothly, easily, twisting it back on itself until its ends were touching. Bucky plucked it out of his hands, dropped it on the grass, then lifted Steve's hands to press them against his face.

"You've _always_ been able to do that. You've _always_ been stronger than me, faster than me. You've always been able to hurt me, but Steve," he wiggled his metal fingers, " _so can the rest of the world_. An asshole in a semi-trailer just about wiped me off the face of the earth while I was driving home from my shitty job at a convenience store. That's not what makes you special. What makes you special is that you're Steve and you'd never hurt me." Steve's eyes dropped to Bucky's shoulder, to where the bite was hidden under his shirt. "You're right," Bucky said when Steve met his eyes again. "It did hurt when you bit me. You broke the skin and it bled and, honestly, it itches like hell, but you didn't hurt _me._ You've never hurt _me._ All you've ever done is love me. Do you get the difference?"

Steve's hands stayed motionless under Bucky's for a long time as he searched Bucky's face, then he sighed, the sound of a man finally setting down a great weight, and cradled Bucky's cheeks, fingers curling behind his jaw. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I understand."

"No more treating me like I'm made of porcelain?"

"No," he murmured, and bent his head to kiss him. Bucky wound his arms around Steve's waist and returned the kiss, slow and sweet, while Steve's fingers wrapped around the back of his neck. "You’re the strongest person I know. It's how I knew everything was real, everything that happened after I was bitten had actually happened."

Bucky kissed Steve's chin, his jaw, the corner of his mouth and admitted, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"In one of my cage-dreams, I thought maybe I'd imagined everything: becoming a giant werewolf, being strong and fast, having all that power. It's kind of the perfect fantasy for someone who was sick all the time like I was. Except I figured out that couldn't be right, because for that to be true I would've needed to make you up and Bucky," Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky's, "I could never imagine someone as incredible as you."

It was sunshine and golden warmth flooding his whole body and for a second Bucky couldn't breathe. He swallowed hard. "Do you have any idea what you mean to me?"

"Of course I do. You love me."

"No. No, it's..." He shook his head.

Steve grinned. "Oh, so you _don't_ love me."

"Don't be stupid." Bucky poked him in the chest. "Natasha asked me a question. She asked if you knew how devoted I was. To you, she meant. And I wasn't sure. I know what I mean to you, you told me, you told me I was your entire world, and I've never told you exactly what you mean to me. I swore to myself when I got you back I'd make sure you knew." Bucky breathed in and let it out slow; he'd never told this to anyone. "You know I was a foster kid, that's why there's no inconvenient family for you to deal with."

"I know." Steve was puzzled, but he touched Bucky's face, smiled gently. "Not that a family would be inconvenient."

"That's not the whole story."

"Bucky?"

He held up his right hand. "Let me get through this, okay?"

Steve nodded, but he folded his hands around Bucky's.  

"I ended up there because when I was a little kid my parents decided they didn't want me. They gave me up. If you think about it, that was a good thing. Better than keeping me. Some of the stories I heard, some of the kids I met, what they'd lived through… My parents didn't do any of that. They saw the writing on the wall and went hey, we don't want this kid, so let's at least get him somewhere he'll get three meals a day and an education. So no tales of woe here, no terrible stories. I just grew up knowing no one loved me."

He suddenly couldn't breathe, because Steve's arms were wrapped around him as tight as they could go, his nose pressed into the crook of Bucky's neck.

"Hey, Steve. No, it's okay." Bucky smoothed his hands down Steve's back. "Better than the alternative."

"That _doesn't_ make it okay."

"No," Bucky said after a long pause. "No, I guess it doesn't. But that's not important." Steve made a noise of protest, but Bucky kept going. "Shh. The important bit is you. Us. You love me and I know you love me. That's what you mean to me: you gave me that, for the first time in my life you gave me that."

"And I'll _keep_ giving you that. I'm never going to stop."

"I know, and neither am I." The world spun around him, trees and sun and sky, and everything was perfectly clear, stars and planets aligned. _Forever sounds just about right._ "Steve?"

"Yeah, Bucky?"

"Marry me."

"What?" Steve's double take would have been funny if Bucky's clarity hadn't morphed into sudden fear.

"I'm asking you to marry me." Afraid or not, he'd never been so certain of anything in his life.

"Technically you're _telling_ me to marry you."

Bucky couldn't help rolling his eyes. "Fine, I'm _telling you_ to marry me." He waited expectantly. When Steve didn't respond, he said, "Steve?"

"You're serious." Steve's dawning wonder was gorgeous, the sun rising over mountains, and Bucky wasn't scared at all.

"I'm serious. I love you. I'm asking you to marry me. I want to be with you, I want you to be with me, for the rest of our lives. That’s it. That's all."

"Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

Steve caught Bucky's hips and hoisted him up, and Bucky wrapped his legs around Steve's waist as Steve walked across the grass, kissing him the whole way, until Bucky's back hit a tree, and kept kissing him, deep and fierce. When he finally pulled back they were both breathless, Bucky laughing as Steve grinned against his mouth. "Just try and stop me."


	10. Epilogue

The wedding was small and tasteful. _Despite_ every werewolf Bucky knew, and some he'd never actually met, attempting to convince him that werewolf mating rites were a thing.

A naked thing.

A public naked thing.

Assholes.

They were married in a clearing in their forest under the watchful eyes of the ancient trees. Their vows were simple, variations on the theme of _I love you_ and _I'll be with you always_ , because everything they needed to say to each other had long since been said.

Sam was Bucky's witness, Natasha was Steve's. Clint performed the ceremony. He'd gotten himself ordained online a few years back, because a lot of werewolves didn't have any truck with traditional religious institutions and he'd thought it sounded like fun.

Their rings were made from the plates of Bucky's arm that Steve had saved from being thrown away, the plates that had helped save Bucky's life. Definitely-Emily and Luis had turned out to be hopeless romantics. They'd been happy to use Stark's equipment to shape them into rings that gleamed bright silver under the summer sun, Bucky's on his right hand, Steve's on his left.

They walked into the clearing Barnes and Rogers and walked out Barnes-Rogers. It was a heady feeling.

It was the last time they'd walk in their forest.

They'd decided it was time to find a house of their own. Somewhere that could be their home forever, not dependent on the whims of rich vacationers. They both remembered Bucky's panic when he'd thought they'd have to leave. It was time to make that choice for themselves. 

The wedding reception at the Howling Commandos doubled as their farewell to the town, people dropping in to offer congratulations and say goodbye. Bucky had a quiet word with Steve when Frank walked in and the two of them spent fifteen minutes tucked away in a private corner, Frank slapping his knee while he roared with laughter, Steve's grin incandescent, bright enough to light up the entire bar.

Bucky's payout from the accident was still going strong, enough for them to live off for the rest of their lives, so they found a rustic steeple-roofed cabin, far off the beaten path, surrounded by trees and next to a stream, in a forest on the outskirts of the city Natasha's pack called home. The place needed some fixing up but Steve was happy to take care of it, and lord knows he was strong enough to do the work.

For Bucky, he'd decided it was time to look beyond doing nothing; just because he _could_ didn't mean he wanted to. When he sat down with Steve, to try and work out what he did want to do, there was only one thing that came to mind.

"They're the reason I'm not dead," he told Steve. "The only reason I'm not dead. I may not remember the accident, but I know that."

A month after they settled into their new home, James Buchanan Barnes-Rogers enrolled in school to become an EMT. Steve had never been prouder of him.

Close as they were to Natasha and her pack, they weren't part of it, but they were always welcome. Both of them. Natasha hadn't changed her stance on humans, but she'd carved out an exception for Bucky, who everyone seemed to regard as an honorary werewolf. It made Bucky happy, because Steve could get the wolfy company he needed guilt-free.

Out of all the wolves in Natasha's pack, it was Natasha herself that Bucky spent the most time with. As the years passed he came to realise that, after Steve, she was his closest friend. It was a friendship they both came to treasure, but it never stopped slightly weirding them out.

For all the time he spent with werewolves, Bucky never had any desire to become one. He loved one and that was enough.

Maybe someday that would change. As his body aged and grew slower, someday he might ask Steve to change him. Or maybe not. If the past is another country so is the future, far away across an endless sea. Who can say what it will bring?

But the future's the future, and now is now, and _now_ was glorious and beautiful, filled with love and laughter and joy, and neither of them could imagine a life better than the one they were living.


End file.
